


And So Life Goes On

by Tempore



Series: I am Sirius, so quit calling me Shirley. [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, F/M, Fred Lives, Ginny Weasley Bashing, M/M, Molly Weasley Bashing, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Pregnancy Termination, Sirius is only mostly dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-06-14 07:59:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 60,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15384249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tempore/pseuds/Tempore
Summary: It's funny, the way secrets always come out. It's also weird how many people in the magical world don't seem to stay dead, but at least in this case, it's not because they performed dark, evil magic.No, Hermione knows that while Sirius is a bit of an arse, he's not dark. He just can't keep a secret.





	1. Post-Battle Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Note: There is some angst and possibly some triggering centering around a character who terminated a pregnancy. The views of the wizarding world in regard to this act is specific to the fictional culture and specific event as reflected and implied within the world of this story and not meant to be reflective of my own or anyone else's opinions about reproductive rights, nor is it meant to influence anyone else's views on such. 
> 
> Also, reposted this after dividing into two chapters. I didn't mean for it to republish completely, just add a chapter. 
> 
> See notes at the end for some additional warnings.

August 1998, Grimmauld Place

Hermione may love books, but she hasn’t hidden behind them for years. However, she knows that Ron won’t step foot in the Grimmauld Place library, even with all the dark books cleared out and the place renovated. He seems to think it’s Hermione’s sacred space. Given that he barges into every other room - including the bathroom when she’s showering - she is willing to use whatever advantage she can to get some time alone. 

Her introversion is interrupted when another redhead bursts in. Hermione hopes in vain that Ginny won’t notice her, but it only takes two minutes for her to locate the window seat tucked in the back corner behind a set of tall shelves. 

When Hermione doesn’t move her feet, Ginny sits down on top of them, making Hermione yelp and pull them away. She glares at Ginny, who raises an eyebrow in response. 

Hermione says nothing, pursing her lips. 

“I know my brother’s an idiot, but you shouldn’t be too pissed off at him.” 

Hermione sighs. 

“Ron wasn’t trying to flirt with Padma,” Ginny continues. “He’s a clueless git, you know that.” 

“Ginny, I’m not upset.” 

“Because after everything you two have been through, there’s no way he’d really muck it all up with you now.” 

“I know,” Hermione says with a little more force. Ginny pays her no heed, plowing on with all kinds of excuses for Ron’s actions. 

“Really, he was just trying to get a rise out of you because you were ignoring him.” 

“Ginny. Ginny! I know, alright? I don’t mind, honest.” 

“Then why did you go stomping off?” 

“Because I wanted to read my book and Ron wouldn’t bloody shut up for five minutes,” Hermione says with exasperation. “I know Ron wasn’t flirting with Padma, at least not seriously.” 

Ginny purses her lips, but Hermione’s telling the truth. That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? Hermione isn’t hiding from Ron to lick her wounds; she’s hiding because his attention - or rather, his need for attention from Hermione - is a little much. If only he were really flirting with Padma; it would make things ever so much easier. 

She sighs, feeling guilty. Hermione knows she has to break things off with Ron. But the timing couldn’t be worse. Everyone has finally settled down a little from the emotional roller coaster of all the funerals and celebrations of the summer. 

It seems like everyone has channelled all the tension and anger and grief into partying and truly ridiculous amounts of shagging. Not that Hermione’s complaining about that last much, mind - sex is something she rather enjoys - it’s just that Ron isn’t quite doing it for her. 

Grimmauld has turned into the unofficial party house for they and their friends with the occasional forays to the flat that Oliver Wood shares with Roger Davies for a change of scenery, if not people. Seamus and Dean have unofficially moved in - they even have their own rooms - and there’s always at least two Weasleys around, though they all seem to rotate staying at the Burrow in order to appease their mother. 

Sometimes, Hermione feels like she’s still a prefect, trying to keep the level of chaos at a manageable level. That said, she’s not trying very hard, mostly because she’s learned a few things over the years and one of them is to choose your battles. In fact, it was Bill Weasley who said to her, “Ask yourself: Is this the hill I want to die on? If it’s not, best to let it go.” 

And at any rate, most of the antics are good, filling the house with laughter and cheer, something they all desperately need after the past year. And sometimes, she plays to the role she was cast in, putting her hands on her hips and glaring until things settle down. 

They’ve been working on truly gutting the house and getting rid of all the dark artefacts and old, mouldy furniture. That usually transitions to them cooking dinner as a group, or getting some  
kind of takeaway (introducing the Weasley brothers to pizza was possibly one of the biggest mistakes of Hermione’s life, but she doesn’t regret a thing), and then into an evening of drinking and debauchery. 

It’s when the party stops that the trouble begins. 

Ginny has spent more than a few nights either holding Harry while he shakes from another nightmare or shagging him to exhaustion. When Ginny’s not there, which is quite a lot, since Molly currently has a pathological need to keep her youngest in sight at almost all times, Hermione ends up making him cup of tea after cup of tea, listening to him tell stories about Sirius and Remus that she’s either heard or was there for. Sometimes, it’s her telling the stories about her parents, how she’s never realized how small her world was, being the only child.

Sometimes, they sit in a silence that neither of them feel the need to break, and it almost feels like it was when it was just the two of them in the tent again. 

Merlin help her, there are times when she misses that, and then she feels really guilty. She’d missed Ron so much when he was gone. She was so, so angry at him, but she’d missed him as well. But her feelings for Harry weren’t complicated. Harry, in comparison to Ron, was easy - even with the horcrux and the terrible stress and living conditions. 

Hermione is looking forward to going back to Hogwarts just to get some form of structure back in her life. Many of the students who should have been graduating in June are returning. As it turns out, even those who had spent the previous year in school were too busy trying to defend themselves from the Carrows and their supporters to really study for their NEWTS, and after the battle, NEWTs were the last thing on anyone’s mind - too many injured in St. Mungos, too many funerals, too much cleanup and reconstruction that needed to be done. 

Ron and Harry are not among the students returning, which is going to be weird. She’s faced almost everything with the two of them by her side and the prospect of going back without them is daunting. 

As if reading where her thoughts are straying, Ginny says, “Are you upset because he’s not going back to Hogwarts?” 

Hermione sighs. “No. While I’ll miss him and Harry, it’s their choice.”

“I wish I wasn’t going back,” Ginny says, sighing. “I’m dreading it.” 

The Ministry is a shambles. Arthur and Kingsley are doing their best to hold things together, but the Auror corps, especially, has been decimated. As a result, they’re waiving the NEWTS requirements for new recruits and offering to train them simultaneously. They’ll have one-on-one tutoring and lessons, and they’ll be able to take their NEWTS in three years. Advancement to full-fledged auror will hinge in part upon them receiving NEWTS in at least three subjects. 

Hermione can understand why Ginny is less enthusiastic about returning, but one of the few times Molly had shown any of her normal spirit this past summer was when Ginny said she planned to drop out and try to go pro for quidditch. 

She’d protested that absolutely not, Ginny was going to get her NEWTS. That just because the twins were doing well without theirs, did not mean that she should emulate them. 

“Win this year and they’ll recruit you,” Angelina advised, so Ginny is going back, but under protest. 

Ginny’s not alone in the sentiment. Hermione had seen some of the damage the year had done to her friends there, but she truly hadn’t appreciated it until she saw the aftermath. 

At first, she’d chalked it up to the Battle of Hogwarts itself, but she sees it in the way that younger students will defy their own parents and any other adults around but listen to Seamus, Neville and Padma without question. Some of the professors get a little more respect, but it’s patchy - they did what they could, but they’re still blamed for not stopping the Carrows’ worst punishments. 

She sees it in the scars they bear, as well. She’d been truly shocked when she’d gone up to Hogwarts to help with the reconstruction one day and found several of the boys working shirtless out in the sun. Michael Corner and Terry Boot seemed oblivious to the horror on her face when she saw the lines of scars criss-crossing their backs. 

Seamus has those and worse. Euan Abercrombie walks with a permanent limp from damage Alecto Carrow did to his feet with the dancing spell, and several of the students have nerve damage from exposure to the cruciatus curse. 

Very few of them escaped some form of punishment. Hell, not even the Slytherins were immune from what Hermione has heard. 

The scars aren’t the most striking thing though, nor the most telling. Neville had long lost any of his chub, and when he comes down to breakfast wearing nothing but boxer briefs, Hermione has to force herself to look away several times. He catches her staring and has the audacity to actually wink at her. 

Neville has lost any sense of self-consciousness alongside his baby fat. He’s not cocky, but he gets damned close sometimes. He and Hannah are definitely an item, but he flirts playfully with the other girls and even some of the other guys. Hermione is pretty sure that Seamus has spent time in their bed. 

And Neville’s not the only one with that newfound confidence. Not only are most of her year in fantastic shape physically, they’re all incredibly comfortable with each other’s bodies in various states of undress.

They pile into the bathroom together, boys and girls alike, to shave and shower and brush their teeth. Hermione is somewhat used to girls going to the bathroom together in packs, but not to the boys leaving the doors wide open as they piss, continuing conversations without pause. Susan, Hannah, Padma; they don’t even blink about changing their tops in front of anyone. 

It’s perhaps no wonder that Ron looks a bit starry eyed around them, really. Even Hermione is a bit fascinated by Padma’s perfect breasts, and that was after 6 years in a dorm with Parvati and Lavender. 

“The people who ended up holed up in the Room of Requirement, it became more than a hideaway. We were Dumbledore’s Army for real,” Hannah tells her one evening as they watch Ernie and Neville wrestle, each insulting the other as crudely as possible. 

Ernie has lost a lot of his pompous formality in favor of a wicked sense of humor. Hermione watches the dynamic as Ernie and Hannah pull Justin Finch-Fletchley back into their circle. Watching them, she wonders if that’s what she, Ron and Harry look from the outside looking in. 

“It was the ‘puffs that made sure we trained physically as well as with spells and mentally,” Padma adds, smiling at Hannah. “Plus, I mean, we certainly didn’t hate seeing the boys all running around shirtless.” 

“They certainly didn’t mind when we did, either,” Hannah says, grinning. 

“I don’t tink anyone would be upset at the sight of such lovely lasses,” Seamus says, plopping down to lay his head in Padma’s lap, giving her moon eyes. 

The constant flirtation spills over into scenes of a more sexual nature often enough that on their way down to breakfast one morning, after running into yet another girl coming out of Seamus’ room, Ron exclaims, “Is there anyone you didn’t fuck, Shay?” 

Seamus answers, “Ginny,” immediately. 

Ron sighs, relieved, until Seamus adds, “But not for lack of trying.” 

Harry’s head had jerked up while Ron whinged about knowing too much about his sister. Ginny’s response had been to smack Seamus upside the head, but with an odd look of relief on her face. 

Dean, Harry and Ron adjust quickly to the weird communal living. It takes Hermione a little bit longer, but Ron says, “Harry and I basically lived this for 6 years. We all have our own rooms now - well, mostly - but otherwise, this is the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory for us.” 

So despite Ginny’s clear scepticism, Hermione’s truly not offended that Ron and Padma were flirting; they’ve all done their share. Her need to escape has nothing to do with that, except the timing. 

“Really, I’ve come to the realization that all of the Weasleys are flirts,” Hermione points out. “You were flirting with Shay the other day. Harry wasn’t jealous, though,” she rushes to say. “We all know it’s not serious.” 

Ginny is opening her mouth with yet another question when the door bursts open and Seamus runs in, yelling both of their names. 

“Speak of the devil,” Hermione murmurs. 

“We’re here,” Ginny says. She and Hermione are both on their feet, wands in hand. 

Seamus coughs, waving his hand. “Saint Mungos. Aurors came to get Harry and the Weasleys. Go.” 

With that message, Ginny starts to run, but Hermione grabs her arm. 

“Wait.” 

Ginny opens her mouth but before she can say anything, Hermione apparates them downstairs. 

“Oh,” Ginny says. “Right.” 

They turn to Harry, who is looking confused. The aurors refuse to tell them anything; instead, they’re grabbing Harry and all the Weasleys in the house - which happens to be Ginny, Ron and the twins. Fred’s scar stands out in sharp relief against his pale skin; his jaw is clenched and eyes worried. George is also pale beside him, both uncharacteristically silent. 

“Wait,” Harry says, and reaches out for Hermione. “She comes with us.” The auror grabs Hermione’s arm, and then they’re apparating again. She feels them hit, then squeeze through an odd barrier, then they’re taking shape inside a ward. 

“Figured it was best we bring you straight here and not have to deal with crowds,” the auror says to Harry. 

He nods, business-like. “What’s going on?” 

Hermione turns; Bill and Fleur are there, as is Arthur, who is looking a bit wild-eyed. 

“What’s happened to mum?” Ron doesn’t so much ask as demand. 

“It’s not your mum,” Arthur says. “She’s fine. Well, as much as she can be.” 

“Then what?” Ron asks. 

He is standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest; Fred and George are standing with their shoulders pressed together, while Charlie has put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. Ginny’s nerves are translating into nervous excitement; she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, lips parted. 

“It’s -- they said it’s your uncles,” Arthur says. 

Hermione is still watching Ginny for some reason when he says that; Ginny stops bouncing suddenly, blinking. 

“Our uncle’s what?” Ron asks. “What’s the matter with him? It’s not his heart, is it?”

“Uncles, plural.” 

Ron stares at Bill, as if he can’t possibly be saying what Ron thinks he’s saying. For once, Hermione feels about as clueless as he does. 

“But there’s only one uncle alive,” Fred says slowly. 

“Yes, well, about that --”

“Is mum possessed?”

They all stare at Ron. “What? How else can there be uncles, plural?” 

“We’re not quite sure,” Arthur says after a moment. His face is pale. “Only, it seems that your mother’s brothers - the twins - are very much alive.” 

There’s the noise of something metal clanging, and something else hitting the ground. There’s a thump on the wall near the door, and cursing. 

“They don’t sound very happy about it,” George says. 

Hermione covers a laugh with a cough, though Harry isn’t able to catch his snort in time. Fred smirks over at them. 

“What about Percy?” Ginny asks. “Is Percy alive?”

Arthur turns, his face crumpling for a moment before his stoicism kicks in. “Sorry, dear, but no. Whatever this is that brought him back, didn’t bring your brother.” 

The room goes silent, then.

“Are you sure?” Ginny asks, almost desperately. “If it’s bringing them back, couldn’t it bring others?” 

Bill steps up and pulls Ginny into a hug. “Sorry, Gin. People don’t just come back from the dead; whatever this is is likely a targeted act.” 

Arthur turns to Harry. “Harry, er.” 

Before he can say anything else, the door slams open, missing one of the aurors by less than an inch. There is a disheveled, wild-eyed man with a tangle of long, black hair standing in front of them in a loose hospital gown. His eyes zero in on Harry. 

“Harry,” he croaks, and Hermione’s heart stops as he charges at them. 

“Sirius?”

“Harry,” he yells, and grabs him, sweeping him into a hug. 

Harry is clinging back, saying something muffled into his shoulder, and from the sounds of it, choking on laughter and tears. Hermione is in shock. 

“Sirius,” she whispers. 

His eyes, which had shut tightly at Harry’s embrace, open and fall on Hermione. He reaches out, snagging her wrist, and pulls her into the hug, too.

Harry is practically chanting, his words muffled against Sirius’ chest. “You’re alive, you’re alive, Merlin, you’re alive.” 

She feels like she can’t breathe, but the heaviness in her chest is more from emotion than it is from the hug. He’s also a little stinky, like it’s been a couple of days since he showered. Given that he’s been dead for a few years, it’s impressive that he doesn’t smell or look much worse. 

And then, Harry pulls away, beaming, and says, “Welcome back!” 

***  
How Sirius and the Prewett twins came to be lying outside the veil in the Department of Mysteries is unknown. For that matter, Arthur says, they could have been there for weeks, and it’s entirely possible no one would have noticed, except that one of the Unmentionables had happened to walk through there on his way to doing things no one was allowed to discuss for reasons no one is allowed to even contemplate. 

“Really, don’t think too much about it,” Arthur advises. “The Unmentionables will be opening an investigation, of course. Probably. At some point.” 

“Most likely to make sure that no one else is coming back through the veil,” Kingsley says, wryly. He holds his hands up when everyone looks at him. “Even I have limited knowledge and power over the Unmentionables.” 

Sirius is content to sit quietly and let the healers poke at him so long as Harry is curled up next to him, telling him about everything that has happened. For some reason, he’s also insistent that Hermione be in the room as well.

“I was with you,” Sirius says. “Your parents and Remus and I…” his tears well up and he buries his head in his hands. Harry pulls him in to cry on his shoulder, getting a glare from the healer attending him. 

“Hold still,” she snaps. 

Harry glowers at her until she drops her gaze, going back to her readings. 

“You’re dehydrated and underweight, but otherwise fine,” the healer sniffs finally. “We’d like to keep you overnight for observation, however.” 

“No,” Sirius says, and this is echoed by the Prewett twins in the beds next to them. Molly is fussing with something like her usual spirit, admonishing them to lie back and obey, but they are already peeling the bedclothes back, exposing quite a bit of flesh. 

Hermione averts her eyes. Fleur doesn’t bother, just smirks and mutters something under her breath. 

Ron is still standing with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed, next to Bill and his father. The three of them resemble each other not just in looks, but in mannerisms. She can see the wheels ticking behind all their eyes as they run through various possibilities and scenarios, muttering to each other and under their breaths. They’re cautiously happy, but they’re also suspicious. Which is understandable. 

“People don’t just rise from the dead after years - decades, even,” Bill says quietly. 

Ginny seems to be torn between her mum and Harry, her head swiveling back and forth between them. She finally sits down next to Molly and places a hand on her arm. 

“Breathe, mum.” 

Molly stops talking for a second and focuses in on her daughter. “Oh, Ginny dear, meet your uncles,” she says and introduces them. 

There’s a subtle exchange of glances between both sets of twins; Molly’s gotten them backward. 

“How, after all zeez years, can she not tell zem apart?” Fleur mutters none too quietly. 

Molly doesn’t seem to hear her, though George shoots Fleur a furtive smile. 

“Sometimes I can’t,” Ron confesses. “Er, I couldn’t,” he amends with a quick glance at Fred’s scarred face and the way George’s hair just about covers his missing ear. 

“We’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Fabian says, effectively derailing yet another storm. He looks over at Sirius. “So that’s little Harry Potter?”

“The boy-who-lived himself,” Fred confirms. “Also known as the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One and Savior Potter,” 

“But mostly just Harry, or as we like to call him,” George picks up seamlessly,

“Harry the Horcrux!” they finish together. 

Sirius, who’d just taken a sip of water, spits it out, getting Harry and Hermione wet in the process. “The what?!!!” 

Hermione flicks her wand, drying them with a muttered spell. Sirius pats her knee. “You’re a good friend, Hermione.” 

She turns, raising an eyebrow, but he’s demanding answers about the twins - the Weasley twins’ - statement. 

“What do you know about horcruxes? You’ve not been messing around with dark magic, have you?” Fabian is asking George at the same time.

“Everyone knows about horcruces these days,” Hermione says. “It’s how Voldemort managed to come back a second time.” 

“And he would have come back a third and a fourth and a fifth and so on, if we hadn’t gone Horcrux hunting,” Ron says. “Although we didn’t hunt Harry down. There were enough people hunting him at the time.” 

“Ron!” Hermione says, scandalized. “Could you all be a little more sensitive?” 

Harry, however, is laughing at them. 

“We’ve been thinking about reopening the shop with a new line of Harry-themed sweets, but we thought they’d be tasteless,” Fred says. 

Hermione rolls her eyes, but the rest of them, save Molly and Ginny, snicker. 

“Don’t encourage them,” Ginny snaps. 

Hermione exchanges a worried glance with Ron. 

He leans in. “Is she alright?” 

“I’m sure she’s fine.” 

“It’d have been wicked if we could have gotten Percy back, too,” Ron says, frowning.

Molly picks up on this, wringing her hands. “Did you see him? My Percy?” 

The twins exchange glances; they shake their heads. “He would have moved on right away;” Gideon says, and pats his sister’s hand. “Merlin’s tits Molls, you’ve gotten old!” 

She swats at him with her hand, but she’s laughing a little, even through her tears. The rest of the group chuckle. 

“I’ll let you get away with that once, you scoundrel.” 

He smiles. “Well, you’ve done well for yourself with this brood,” and Molly nods. 

***  
Of course, the story leaks before they’re even out of the hospital. They’re alerted to this when the door slams open and the flash of a camera pops in their faces. The reporter doesn’t even have time to ask a question before Bill, Ron, Harry and Hermione have their wands out and they’re sent tumbling back through the door, which is promptly warded shut to anyone not wearing the St Mungo’s robes. 

“Grimmauld Place is still under heavy wards,” Harry reassures Sirius, who looks grey at the sudden intrusion. 

Sirius recovers quickly and insists on the Prewetts staying there as well. Molly doesn’t protest. Aside from the fact that the Burrow is still in need of some repair after the series of death eater attacks, she’s doesn’t seem to have the same levels of energy she did before the battle. Molly seems to have aged almost overnight. 

This, of course, causes some degree of confusion as people pile into the townhouse all at once. 

Hermione feels somehow adrift in all this; Ron is busy talking with Bill and Arthur in low voices while Molly fusses and flutters around her brothers, as if they’re going to drop dead again any moment. 

For that matter, without knowing what kind of spell it is or what brought them back, it’s not an invalid thought. Harry certainly seems to be torn between ecstasy and fear, clinging to Sirius and talking a mile a minute about the changes they’ve made to the house. Sirius is quiet, looking around a bit in wonder, but he seems to gain his equilibrium, even patting Ginny’s hand and reassuring her, “We’re really alive. It’s not an illusion.”

“I know,” she says, with conviction. “Just...it’s great having you back.” 

“I’m going to put the kettle on,” Hermione says. She can make herself useful and give herself a moment to think in peace while Kreacher prepares quarters for the three new occupants. 

Tea takes a few minutes to brew, since she does it the muggle way (it tastes so much better), gathering some biscuits, sugar and a pitcher of creamer in the meantime. Dean pokes his head in asking her if she needs a hand, but she waves him off. He goes, knowing that she finds this ritual calming. 

When she gets back to the living room, Dean and Seamus are seated on the floor in front of the chair Ron has claimed while Neville is across from them with Hannah sprawled between his legs. They’re listening with wide eyes as Ron recounts what happened at the hospital. Harry is on the couch leaning up against his godfather with Ginny on his lap, who is smirking at something they’re saying.

Sirius throws a wink at Hermione when she hands him a teacup. 

Arthur has managed to get Molly to settle a bit on the other couch with the Prewett twins next to her. She sips at her tea and then puts it down to the side, nearly untouched, though Hermione knows she’s made it exactly the way Molly likes it. 

Fred and George have decided to perch on the armrests of Charlie’s chair, and Bill has Fleur in his lap in the remaining seat. Hermione looks to Ron, but he’s busy gesticulating and talking. As she watches, his tea starts to slosh over. She stops it with a flick of her wand, but he doesn’t notice. She shakes her head; irritated. With a sudden clarity, she’s absolutely sure she’s not going to be able to spend the rest of her life cleaning up his messes. 

There’s no other place to sit so Hermione leans against the wall, observing them all. Fred conjures up a chair for her next to him and pats it with a smile. She enlarges it slightly and indicates he should sit, too. He smiles warmly, never missing a beat in the conversation he’s having with his brothers and uncles. 

She sits quietly and just listens, mostly content to observe while she drinks her tea. Molly’s eyes are bright for the first time since Percy was killed - though at least once, she trails off after looking at them and glances away, pained. Fred isn’t wearing a haunted, guilty look, which is a nice change. It wasn’t his fault, but living with the knowledge that “Percy the Prat” sacrificed his own life to save Fred’s has taken a toll on him, too. 

They touch on the battle and of course, there are names that bring momentary silence, but they’re avoiding the heavy stuff by silent mutual agreement. They’ll talk about that later, but tonight is for sharing happiness. Harry has told Sirius about some of Teddy’s antics and how cute he is, even pulling out pictures. They’re already discussing when to buy Teddy’s first broom. 

The twins - both sets - and Charlie start talking about new prank ideas; not just their Harry the Horcrux (for the love of Merlin, just -- no) ideas, but others, too.

“We did pretty well with the mail order business, but now we’ve got premises again, we need new ideas to signal a new era,” Fred says. 

“We’d love to expand to Hogsmeade, Nottingham, Liverpool and Manchester, even Belfast and Dublin eventually,” George adds. 

At one point, Fabian and George get into a rather fascinating debate over the use of mollusk skins and cacao flakes to stabilize the latest snackbox -- “mice cream,” Fred says. “Way better than ice mice” -- that is so detailed that even Hermione has trouble keeping up. 

“I knew you were geniuses,” she says quietly, touching Fred’s arm. 

“Eh, that’s more George/Fabian,” both Fred and Gideon say. They exchange amused looks. 

“Oh Merlin. There aren’t just two of you, anymore,” Hermione breathes. “You’ve doubled. And with Sirius back…”

The room falls silent as everyone takes a moment to ponder the repercussions of this.

“It’s nice to see you and Fred are still going strong,” Sirius says casually into the silence. “I thought you were a great couple, once you got the stick out.” 

“Who and Fred?” asks Ron, as Hermione’s eyes go wide. 

George starts coughing, but she ignores that in favor of noticing just how still Fred has gone. And how close she’s sitting to him. How his arm is resting on the back of her--their--chair. That they’re sharing. She’s practically in his lap, they’re so squished together. She moves away to the edge and he drops his arm at the same time. She wonders how many people noticed. 

Dean snorts and shakes his head. Well, at least one person did. 

“Hermione and Fred,” Sirius says, like it’s obvious. He seems to realize that two-thirds of the room are looking at him like he has two heads. 

“It’s not still a secret, is it?” Sirius continues, entirely unconcerned. 

“What? Not Hermione and Fred. No, Hermione and Ron, you mean.” 

Harry is many things, but one thing he is not, is subtle. The nudging and oh-so-obvious facial tics makes Ginny stare at him, eyes narrowed. 

“No, I mean Hermione and Fred,” Sirius says, frowning. “Why are you doing that with your face, Harry? Is that a side effect of the cruciatus curse? You’ve seen a healer, right?” 

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut. She’s going to kill him. Harry is just going to have to deal with it again because for some reason, Sirius is dropping this bomb on purpose. 

“Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Fred says a little too lightly. She can feel how tense he is beside her.

“Wait, but how did you know?” George asks. 

“Padfoot eyes and ears,” Sirius says at the same time that Hermione says, “He saw us in the library.” 

Hermione knows she’s probably scarlett to the roots of her hair. Everyone is looking between her and Fred. She bites her lip, looking over at him and he quirks his lips, silently reassuring. 

“Saw you do what in the library? What library?” is asked at the same time as Ginny says, “Explain.” 

“The library upstairs,” Sirius says. 

Hermione glares at him, he looks completely unrepentant and the innocent look he’s trying to pull off is downright pathetic. 

“Three years ago,” Hermione adds. “Obviously.” 

“What -- oh,” Sirius says. “Wait, you two aren’t still...you know?” He glances at Molly. “Dating?”

“Ron and Hermione are together,” Ginny says, but she’s staring at Hermione with a look that spells trouble. Ginny Weasley is furious. 

“Yes, Ron is my boyfriend,” Hermione confirms.

Ron, however, looks inclined to disagree. “What’s he on about, Hermione? What’s this about you and Fred? You’d never.” 

Sirius snorts. “Oh, she did alright.” 

“Shut up, Padfoot,” Harry hisses. 

“Sorry,” Sirius says cheerfully. 

She’s going to put his corpse right back where it reanimated, this time with a lot less blood inside it. 

“Hermione?” Ron asks. “What’s he on about?”

“We should talk about this somewhere in private.” She stands up, but Ron makes no move, and everyone is staring at her. 

“Did you - you weren’t a virgin, you told me you weren’t,” Ron says, his fingers clenching the arm of his chair. “I thought it was Krum, but you kept saying it wasn’t. Was it Fred?” 

Hermione flushes, balling her hands into fists. “This really isn’t the --” 

“Hermione, did you fuck my brother?” 

“It wasn’t fucking,” Fred says and sets his jaw when Molly scolds him about language. “I was - It was more than that.” 

Hermione turns and stares at him, nodding her agreement. “It was definitely more than that.” 

His eyes meet hers, and something passes between them. Resignation, acknowledgement, acceptance. 

“So was it friends with benefits? No. No, you really dated like Sirius said, didn’t you?” Ginny says slowly, looking from one to the other, reading the look between them. “Only, you couldn’t have been, because why wouldn’t you tell us?” She stands up and crosses her arms. When Harry reaches out for her, she dodges his touch, scowling. 

Fred looks at her, eyebrow raised. “That’s a question you’ll have to ask Hermione. I would have been fine with everyone knowing.” 

“Would have shouted it from the Owlery,” George mutters. He gives Hermione a dark look. 

Hermione sucks in a breath, feeling trapped and knowing there’s no way out but through. “Because I was stupid,” she says. “I messed it all up because I was scared of what people would think.”

“Just what did you think we would think?” Neville asks. He looks bewildered, though Hannah’s eyes widen with understanding. 

“She was afraid people wouldn’t take her seriously,” George replies when Hermione hesitates. “She was a prefect, right? She’s supposed to uphold the rules. And Fred is hardly one for obeying rules.” 

“Never met a rule I didn’t immediately want to break,” Fred agrees. He’s watching Hermione closely. “At first, it was a bit of a lark, getting Hermione, of all people, to break rules with us.”

“You seduced her as a lark?” Ron asks, low and dangerous. 

“No, we sneaked out to the movies for a lark,” Hermione corrects him quickly. “You were there for the first one, remember? We all did, except Harry, because Dumbledore hadn’t brought him, yet.”

“And after that, the three of us would go every week,” George adds. “Well, they went every week. I went most of them, but sometimes I stayed behind.”

“And honestly, Fred didn’t seduce me,” Hermione says. “I made the first move.” 

Fred grins at her. “I certainly didn’t mind.” 

“Bloody hell.” Ron’s face turns from ashen to red as she watches. Hermione winces. “You’ve been making a fool of me all this time?” 

“No,” Hermione says. “No Ron, we broke up before fifth year was near over.” 

“Oh,” Ginny says. She looks between them. “Wait, I’m guessing it was right around Valentine’s Day.”

“What do you know about it?” Ron whirls on her. “And you, Harry. You knew, didn’t you? How much of that horcrux was right?”

“Hermione has always been like a sister to me,” Harry says wearily. “And while I get you’re upset about this, I’m getting bloody tired of you not trusting my word.” 

Ron flushes, ducking his head. “I believe you.” Then his gaze swings to Hermione and Fred. “She’s a different story.” 

“Ginny’s right,” Hermione says. “We broke up on Valentine’s Day.”

“So you went from one brother to the next?” Ginny asks. “Decided to keep it in the family.” She’s got her hands on her hips now, face flushed almost as red as Ron’s. 

Hermione flushes. “Not exactly. Not that it’s any of your business.” 

Ron’s eyes narrow. “We thought it was just Umbridge, but both of you were really --”

“Bitchy?” “Horrid?” “Miserable gits?”

George, Harry and Ginny look at each other. They all nod. That sets several people in the room to chuckling lightly. 

Hermione wraps her arms around herself. “Well. Yes. It was all of that, really. It was Umbridge, and Harry was always losing his temper, and I was so angry because I wanted to just once have something normal, something others couldn’t use against me in the papers. Or,” she says, her voice cracking, “Or have everyone accuse me of using a love potion on Fred to make him want to be with me.” 

“Why would anyone think that?” Charlie asks. 

Hermione bites her lip.

“Because a bunch of gits accused her of that when Krum took her to the Yule Ball,” Harry says. 

Fred scoffs. “Are you kidding? More like they’d have assumed I had you under Imperious.” 

Hermione stares up at him. “I really don’t think so.” 

“I really, really do,” Fred says. His eyes soften. “Is that really what you thought?”

“It wasn’t just Krum, anyway. I was afraid that others would laugh at me because what would Fred Weasley want with me except to have another prefect who’d look the other way when it came to his pranks?” 

The room is so silent that a pin could drop. 

“Everything else felt like it was out of my hands, and everything was spiralling out of control. The rules made sense. I --” she swallows hard against the lump in her throat and balls her hands into fists for a moment. “I just needed to feel like I was in control.” 

She looks at Fred. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” 

Fred blinks, then nods. “I know. I forgave you for that three years ago.” 

 

July 1995, Grimmauld Place  
Her parents have heard about Cedric’s death, but they don’t really understand the details - or that Harry was there and nearly died himself. Hermione has kept a lot of things quiet from them the past few years. It’s really not difficult. She knows her parents love her, but they simply don’t understand a lot of her world. The last thing she needs - the last thing Harry needs - is her unable to return to Hogwarts because her parents are afraid she’ll get hurt. 

Sometimes she envies Ron and her classmates that grew up in the wizard world, but when it comes to this kind of thing - her parents being blissfully ignorant - she’s incredibly grateful they’re both muggles. 

Dumbledore comes and collects her himself and she’s honestly relieved, despite her parents’ anger. She’s trying to be a good daughter, but she’s grieving - for Cedric and for Harry, who had to see his death and bring the boy home.

They, however, point out that they’ve barely seen their daughter in a year, but Dumbledore gives them some kind of speech about necessity and Hermione’s utter value, and the wonderful opportunity it is for her education. 

Her relief at being reunited with the Weasley clan is short-lived however, as Dumbledore makes them swear not to tell Harry what’s going on. Harry’s letters are getting increasingly desperate and she feels bad, but she can’t cross the headmistress. Surely, he’s got Harry’s best interests at heart. 

She ignores the niggling voice in her head that says that continuing to have Harry live with abusive relatives is not having his best interests at heart, no matter what the blood does. Now that Voldemort can touch him the blood protection means very little. 

And as for the wonderful opportunity for her education, she has to wonder just how much scrubbing years of filth out of a dirty townhouse will teach her. 

Mrs. Weasley is in a strop and has them cleaning constantly; the twins are a bit of a handful as usual, and Grimmauld place is nasty. Sirius is desperate to get out and it’s making him reckless and annoying to be around, mostly because it’s feeding into her own sense of being caged in. There are days she swears the walls are closing in on them. 

Not even seeing Ron and Ginny is all that helpful, so when the twins declare that they need to get out of the house, Hermione decides that she’s going with them. 

She outlines the plan to Mr. Weasley, who is on board with the idea of Muggle London, and seeing one of those muggle movies he’s heard about. Molly isn’t in the room when she asks, and she and the twins, Ron and Ginny are out the door and down the street before he has a chance to call them back. 

She handles the tickets and they head into the theater to watch Peter Pan. 

She’s never been particularly drawn to this story, though it’s entertaining enough. But watching the Weasleys’ reactions is priceless. The twins sit forward, watching the screen avidly, taking in every detail and occasionally nudging each other. Ron is slack-jawed, but still manages to suck down a soda and most of a container of popcorn by himself, while Ginny acts as if she’s seen muggle movies plenty. Still, she’s little wide-eyed over it all. After, they all demand to go back again. 

The cinema does weekly theme nights; the next week is another Disney classic. “Oh, Alice in Wonderland,” Hermione sighs. “I loved that book!” 

The twins are deep in whispered conversation and paying them no attention; Ron and Ginny are asking her questions about the technical side, most of which Hermione honestly doesn’t know - which makes her slightly irritable. 

She snaps, “I can’t study everything, Ron!” when he makes a sly comment about her not knowing everything, after all. 

By the time they’ve gotten back, Ron’s moved on to complaining that muggle sweets just aren’t as good as chocolate frogs and Ginny’s talking to the twins about quidditch. So she’s surprised when, the next week, there’s a knock on the door of the room she and Ginny are sharing, and Fred and George are waiting for her. 

“Well? Let’s go,” they say. 

She stares at them. “Where are we going?” 

“The movies, of course.”  
“Alice in Wonderland--”  
“--hurry up! It starts at seven.”  
“--We can side-along apparate you--”  
“--but we want to get good seats.”

And that is how she ends up going to the movies to see Alice in Wonderland with the twins. In her excitement, she doesn’t realize until after they’re heading home that they’d neglected to tell anyone where they’re going - but they’ve also managed to sneak out and back successfully, despite the wards and the Fidelius charm. 

“Hold on,” Fred says, when they’ve found an alleyway. He pulls out the tail of George’s shirt from his trousers and yanks the waistband down dangerously low. Hermione squawks, blushing, as he leans down, but then Fred nods. George does the same for Fred. 

“Got it,” he says, and disapparates. 

Fred grabs Hermione and spins; they end up in the bedroom she shares with Ginny. It’s still empty. 

“I meant to ask how you did that. You’re not a secret-keeper. And through the wards!” 

“Wrote it down in a place most people wouldn’t think to check,” Fred says, smirking. “Would you like to see?”

“Er, no,” she says, taking a step back. 

“Anyway, we didn’t write the address in a way anyone else would understand. It’s in twin code,” he adds. “Before you lecture us about being irresponsible.” 

“I wasn’t,” she protests. “But how did you get through the wards?” 

“A little bit of ingenuity and a bit of help from Sirius,” Fred says. 

“That could be really dangerous! If there’s a hole in the wards, Professor Dumbledore needs to know.” 

“There’s no hole in the wards,” Fred says. “It’s that we’re keyed in. Sirius just tweaked the keys for some of us.” 

“It’s really reckless,” she says. “What if you’d been captured or imperiused?” 

“Hermione, it’s fine. Really. You can go ask Sirius yourself if you don’t trust me.” 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just…”

“Think we’re all a bit mad?” Fred suggests. 

“Idiotic,” she says firmly. “I’ll be talking to Sirius tomorrow.” 

“You loved it, didn’t you?” Fred asks, pausing by the door. “I could see it on your face.” 

Hermione smiles. “Yes. She’s someone I can relate to. Sometimes I feel a bit like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole myself.” 

Fred smiles softly at her. “I’m glad you had fun. Goodnight, Hermione.” 

“Thanks, Fred. And tell George thanks, too.” 

“Sure, we’ll do it again soon as we can get away.” 

***  
“We’re going up to the library,” Fred announces as he and George stand up. 

Hermione closes her book with a snap. Ron and Harry are holed up doing some of their holiday work because of course they waited until the last minute. 

“I’ll go with you,” Hermione says. 

Molly starts to protest, but Sirius stands up from where he was brooding in a battered chair near the fireplace. “I’ll keep an eye on them.” 

“Hermione will keep an eye on them, more like,” Bill mutters. Molly gives him a sharp glance, but she doesn’t say anything else, just keeps knitting ferociously. 

George and Sirius head upstairs, chatting loudly. Hermione starts after them but feels Fred tug her arm. He holds his finger to his lips and they sneak downstairs and out after looking to make sure no one is watching. Fred uses a disillusionment charm on them both until he gets to where they can apparate. 

“Isn’t George coming?” 

Fred shakes his head. “He did actually want to talk with Sirius about a project. And this way, if mum comes looking for us, they can head them off.” 

“I really don’t think we should do this,” she says doubtfully, but Fred just sighs. “Come on, you needed to get away. No offense, Hermione, but you’ve been snappish all day.” 

“When someone says no offense, something offensive always follows,” she snarks, but she takes his arm and lets him apparate the two of them to their usual alley. Fred’s not wrong. Between Harry’s temper and Ron’s whinging, combined with Molly and Sirius’ constant silent war over who loves Harry more, the day had been oppressive. 

“What are we seeing tonight, then?” 

October 1995, Fifth Year, Hogwarts 

She is a prefect, she should be upholding rules, not breaking them. And yet, she’d just had to get away from the castle for a time. Much like the summer, the walls in Hogwarts feel as if they’re closing in on her, which doesn’t make sense - she loves it here. Only, with that horrid toad there, it’s been rather less pleasant than usual. 

Fred had been able to sneak them away with George staying behind providing the distraction. 

The movie had been okay, and she and Fred had compared the glimpse into different worlds between Alice and Arielle. 

“Is this a theme with them or something?” he asks. “Because I sense some kind of darker undertone; this whole teenage girl coming of age. And dingelhoppers, well, you can say it’s a fork, but we all know what it’s really referring to.” 

Hermione bursts out laughing, and that’s when they hear the meowing of Mrs. Norris. 

They get separated when it turns out they’re not the only students out and about - Draco’s henchmen are as well. Which, why should they be out of bed? They aren’t even prefects. She’s lost Mrs. Norris, but the idiots seem to be following her. 

If she were in her robes, she could claim her duties on them, but even then, she fears she’s on thin ice with Umbridge. She darts down a corridor and whispers a filthy word when it leads to a dead end. How has she never been this way before? She’s a fifth year and she’s used the bloody map as much as Harry has. 

She’s cursing her luck when a hand shoots out from behind a suit of armor and pulls her into the tightest space available beneath an arrow loop. It’s not the best hideout and it’s barely wide enough for one person let alone two, but she doesn’t have time for anything else. 

The arms pull her back and down so she’s crouched awkwardly, arse and back flush with Fred’s chest as he braces his legs on the floor on either side of her. It’s dark enough behind the statue that she can barely see. 

He casts a disillusionment charm over them. 

The voices are louder; she can hear Crabbe’s idiotic voice fumbling over saying he saw someone come this way. She stays stock still; the suit of armor isn’t really that big, but the hallway is dark and combined with the charm, they have a chance of getting out of this if it is just Crabbe and Goyle. 

She doesn’t think they know any of the revelio charms; she hopes not, anyway. 

“I swear I saw them,” she hears Goyle say, and then she hears Professor Flitwick’s voice right outside their hiding spot. Is he looking at them? He can’t be. 

She shifts slightly and Fred’s grip on her tightens. She blinks, suddenly very aware of how her arse is pressed tight against his groin and she can feel his...interest pressing against her. She’s not sure why she does it -- blame it on instincts, blame it on the rush of adrenaline at their current predicament -- but she shifts her hips back again, deliberately. He presses his mouth against her neck in a moan she feels more than hears, and damn, it’s like that is some kind of trigger spot right there because she feels a rush of arousal run through her. 

The arm that is around her waist tightens. 

Flitwick waves his wand and mutters an incantation, but even distracted she can tell that he’s done the movement all wrong. Crabbe and Goyle, dim as they are, have no clue. 

“They’re obviously not here,” Professor Flitwick says. “Come on, come on, it’s late. Time for you to retire to your beds. Come now, I’ll escort you to your common room; wouldn’t want Mr. Filch to catch you.” 

He herds them away, but Fred’s grip doesn’t loosen. 

“We need to stay put for a bit, make sure they’re gone,” he mutters. 

She feels hot with the way he’s pressed against her and when his lips touch her neck, she shivers at the way it makes her whole body feel like liquid heat. She has no idea what she’s doing; all she knows is that she’s been restless and irritable, tired of having to deal with Harry’s temper and that awful toad and she wants --needs-- some kind of release. Sneaking out had helped, but she needs something more. 

She reaches her hand behind her, holding his head and grinds back against him. She tilts her head to the side, smirking at the sharp intake of breath. 

“Hermione, are you --?”

“Yes,” she mutters. 

His lips pause on her neck, and then he’s not hesitant at all; in fact, she’d swear he’d grown some extra limbs because his hands move so quickly, one to cup her breast, one to slide down past her hip to hitch up her skirt, his hand sliding up her thigh and touching her through her knickers. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, perhaps a little louder than she meant to, because the hand that was on her breast comes up to cover her mouth. 

“Quiet,” he murmurs. “Don’t want to get caught.” 

Her brain, constantly whirring to the point of exhaustion, seems to follow his command and goes blank, content to let Fred take the reins. His fingers slide into her mouth; she sucks on them so that he’s the one who makes a noise and his hips jerk. 

“Merlin, that’s good.” 

She flushes at the pleasure that gives her. 

The hand that is between her legs feels nice but it’s not enough, not nearly enough. She presses back with a whimper, worming her left hand down between them to fumble at his flies. 

He groans and mutters filthy words against her neck, which is apparently so incredibly sensitive; it’s driving her wild. 

“Gods, Hermione, you’re so bloody gorgeous, so amazing,” he says, between nips and kisses, and quick little sucks to the skin of her neck and shoulder. His voice is wicked, but it’s doing things for her, low and throaty. 

“Want to do so many things with you. Bet you’re as good at this as you are everything else.” 

He moves her knickers aside and touches her. It doesn’t take much til she’s gone, glad she has his hand over her mouth as she comes. 

The sound does something to him because he pushes two fingers inside her. It’s a lot to feel; she’s suddenly hyper-sensitive, but she can’t get away from the litany of things he’s saying, all the praise and the increasingly dirty, filthy things he wants. She can’t stop the movement of her hips, grinding down and clenching. 

They shift forward and her hands come up to brace herself against the wall as fabric rustles; she looks over her shoulder to try and see him in the dark. He’s fumbled open his robes and trousers, and she gets a faint whiff of his arousal. She feels his hand brush up against her arse; the space is so tight; it wouldn’t take much for him to penetrate her. The fingers he has inside her cease their movement and she rolls her hips, seeking more. He huffs a laugh, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. 

When he pulls his fingers out, she arches her back and reaches one hand back to grab his hip, pulling him flush against her so all it would take is a bit of a shift. 

He stills, barely breaching and chokes out, “Hermione? You sure?” 

“Please, Fred.” 

He doesn’t give her a second chance to back out, pushing inside her. It’s overwhelming; certainly not comfortable, but simultaneously exactly what her body has been craving. 

She can’t help the noise that escapes her; he reaches up and clamps his hand over her mouth and that frees her up to enjoy the sensations running through her body as his hipbones press into her arse. 

Her mind retreats somewhere as she loses herself in what they’re doing; the way his skin feels pressed hot against her back and the occasional little grunts he makes. He doesn’t just piston in and out; he gets a hand up under her blouse and inside her bra to squeeze her breast and rubs his thumb over her nipple. 

She shifts her stance, pressing back against him and letting her head hang between her arms; he lets go of her face to grab her hip. 

“More,” she begs. 

He grunts, slamming harder into her and his skin slaps into hers, the rhythm strangely soothing. The hand he has on her breast does something different and he grinds his hips on the next thrust; she sucks in a breath. 

He does it again and she’s hitting that peak quickly; sinking her teeth into her arm to keep from screaming her orgasm; the pain sends her over the edge. He stills, grunting as he releases inside her. 

His retreat is not the most pleasant part of the process. She sags against the cold stone of the wall, letting it cool the heat in her cheek and forehead and tries to quell the way her heart is beating. When she manages to turn around and lean back against it, he’s leaning against the other wall, his legs braced on either side of her.. Even in the dim light, she can see how wrecked he looks, which sends a curl of satisfaction up her spine. 

And then in the next heartbeat, as he leans in and kisses her softly on the mouth, rearranging his clothes, she thinks, “what have I done?” 

He’s grinning at her when she blurts out, “You won’t say anything, right?” 

The smile dims but he straightens and drawls, “Don’t worry, Hermione, I don’t kiss and tell. Come on, then, let’s get back before we get caught.” 

***  
She has about a week and a half of worrying that her recklessness will end up in a baby. She runs contingency plan after contingency plan through her head; would she keep it? Seek an abortion? She’s honestly not sure. 

She really starts to panic when she counts back and realizes she’s a few days late. When Harry snaps, she manages to keep it together until she finds a quiet space, but then she bursts into tears. Later that day, she’s extra snappish with George. She doesn’t mean to be, but his red hair pisses her off. Later, Ron says something and the look she gives him has him scurrying away.

That night, she wakes up to the feeling of normal cramps and her panties wet and uncomfortable. She waves her wand over her bed and makes her way into the dorm to clean up and sighs in relief. 

That’s that, she thinks. She won’t do something that idiotic again. 

***

Throughout dinner, Fred keeps making Ron’s dinner roll disappear off his plate. Ron will grab another and he’ll turn away for a second and Fred will vanish it with a flick of his wand. 

About the third or fourth time, Ron isn’t even turned away when the roll disappears from his hand. He looks at it, and around the table. 

“Where’d it go?” 

Fred and George keep up a steady stream of conversation with Lee, not breaking stride as Ron reaches for another, only for the basket to slide just out of reach. 

Ron looks around at them, trying to see who’s doing it. 

Hermione takes a bite of her food, chewing vigorously. Just as he reaches again and the bowl slides away again. He stands up and looks over the table.

Fred doesn’t even blink. Hermione is reluctantly impressed. 

Ron sits down, looking defeated. 

“Here,” she says. “You can have mine.” He reaches for it, and it vanishes out of her hand. She blinks. 

“Looks like someone doesn’t want you to have rolls tonight, Ron,” Harry says. He looks amused. 

Hermione’s eyes meet his and he tilts his head ever so slightly toward the twins. She blinks slowly. He presses his lip together. 

Ron ducks to look under the table and Fred takes that time to grin at her. Hermione mimes zipping her lips and Fred winks before going back to his conversation with George and Lee. 

Then, Ron’s entire plate vanishes. 

“Oh, come on!” 

He glares at the twins, but they’re still chattering away. Fred mentions something Angelina did at quidditch. If Hermione wasn’t watching so closely, she wouldn’t have noticed the slight twitch of his wand; Ron’s cry of dismay tells her something else vanished. 

She’d almost feel sorry for him, but honestly; he’s such a glutton; it’s his second helping of everything. Everyone else is still working through their first. 

“I know it’s you,” he says, glaring at Fred. 

Fred breaks off from his story. “What?” 

“Where’d you put it? I’m hungry,” Ron whines. 

“You’re always hungry, Ronald.” 

Ron glares at her. 

Hermione shrugs. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t take it.” 

“Sounds like you’ve offended the house elves,” George says. “What did you do to them?” 

“Nothing!” He looks to Harry and Hermione for support. “I didn’t, did I?” 

Harry shrugs. “Don’t know, mate. I can ask Dobby later.” 

Ron gets up and stomps off. Harry smiles guiltily at the twins and goes after him. 

Half the table breaks into laughter once he’s gone. Hermione sniffs disapprovingly, even as her eyes sparkle. “I hope you’re not doing that to him all the time. It’s a waste of food.” 

“Don’t worry, Hermione,” Fred says. “It’s all sitting on his bed.” 

“I doubt he’ll let it go to waste later. Probably eat it in his sleep, the glutton,” George says. 

She really should say something else, but they do have a point. 

***

Hermione has rules, especially when it comes to doing her homework. She has to do a step or a spell correctly three times in a row before she can move on to the next stage. She’s tried to explain it to Ron and Harry, but they both look at her as if she’s got two heads. 

“It’s a classic principal in art and writing,” she tells them, but Ron’s clearly not listening and he’s distracting Harry. At least Harry takes things more seriously than Ron and the twins; even Ginny is annoyingly blase about her coursework sometimes. 

“What’s a classical principal in art and writing?” 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, her mother always says.

“Fred. George,” she acknowledges. “The rule of three.” 

“Oh, and what’s that, then?” Fred asks, sitting on the armrest of her chair. She glares at his butt for a second, then up at him when he smirks.

“It’s a trick to writing; if you mention a detail once or twice, your readers tend to forget it; mention it three times and people will remember it, even if only subconsciously. So for example, if I were to be writing a description of --”

“--a werewolf attack --” 

She flinches, but accepts it “--a werewolf attack, yes, then I could write about how the moon shone clearly through the branches of the trees, and then describe a bit of action or dialogue, and then in the next paragraph, mention the moon’s reflection in the lake, and then finally, follow it up with a third mention --” 

“--the cloud momentarily covering it over, so that it’s much more difficult to see,” George supplies, grinning. 

“Yes,” she says. “Though this would be a terribly cliche novel if we were actually writing it. But by that point, the fact that it’s a full moon is cemented in the reader’s mind.” 

“Bludgeoned more like,” Fred says. “What brought this up, anyway?” 

“Hermione has to perform a spell three times correctly before she’ll move on to the next one,” Harry says. 

“Oh, well, yeah,” Fred says. “That’s a good rule.”  
“Though why stop at three?” George asks.  
“We prefer the old adage --”  
“Don’t do it until you get it right --”  
“--do it until you can’t get it wrong,” Fred finishes.  
“Speaking of doing it,” George says, waggling his eyebrows. “Oi, Angelina!” 

He ducks, laughing when she throws her quill at him. 

Fred winks at Hermione. She ducks her head, grateful for once that her bushy hair hides her red face. 

****  
“Hermione. Hey, Hermione.” 

It takes her a few moments to realize someone’s calling her name, so intent is she on getting this stupid spell right. 

“Fred,” she acknowledges him, trying not to show that the way he says her name, pitching his voice lower than normal, gets to her. It’s dead sexy. 

“Stop being a perfectionist for a moment, will ya?” 

She lowers her wand and turns to him fully. 

“Do you think you could stay behind a bit and help me with something?” 

George looks over curiously, but Parvati touches his arm and he walks toward the door with her, bending his head toward her when she says something in a low voice. 

Fred watches them until they go, and then turns back to Hermione. 

She sighs. “What is it?” 

“I’m trying to work on this transfiguration project for McGonagall, but I’m not sure what to do.” 

He stops as Harry walks up to them. “If you’re staying behind, use the map.” He hands it to Fred. 

“Thanks, mate.” 

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione echoes. She can feel her cheeks burning a little when he looks at her.. 

“So what’s the transfiguration project about?” 

“We have to come up with a final project for McGonagall, demonstrating the theory of complete and total transformation in slow motion. Here’s the kicker: It has to then reverse itself. George and I both have to work separately, which is a bit annoying. He has an idea for his project already. I kind of do, but I need someone to bounce ideas off of. You’re brilliant at this stuff, and I was hoping you’d help.” 

She flushes when he calls her brilliant. Judging by his slight smirk, she thinks he notices. 

“I’ll try,” she says, against her better judgment. “What were you thinking about?” 

The room changes around them and now, there’s a couch with a coffee table. She sits down on the couch; he sits down right beside her, tucking his bag next to him on the other side. 

This close, she notices how his eyes are a warm brown with flecks of amber. 

“Okay, so I was kind of thinking about when we went to the movies and saw Alice in Wonderland, right? And the whole thing is essentially a dreamscape for a girl who’s on the cusp of womanhood, right? All the wondrous - and terrifying - new things about growing up, with some opiates thrown in. I was reading about muggle use of those, weird.” He wrinkles his nose; it’s kind of adorable. 

“Anyway, so I was thinking about the symbolism behind some of this stuff, and the whole movie is about transfiguration in a way - transformation from the mundane of everyday life to the wondrous. And how do you retain a bit of that wonder when going back to the mundane?” 

She blinks at him, her mouth dry and her heart thumping a little bit. This is a side of Fred she’s never seen before. His eyes sparkle as he talks. 

“And by the way, thank you for never calling us Tweedledum and Tweedledee.”

She laughs. “I wouldn’t dare.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” he says, smirking. 

“I wrote down a list of ideas, but I’m not sure how to pull some of these off within the parameters of both the instructions of the project and in the time frame we have.” 

He pulls some parchment out of his bag and hands it to her; it has the list of requirements for the project. A second piece has a list of ideas and some notes for a few of them. She scans down, humming. 

“Do you have a quill?” she asks. 

He hands one over. 

“Okay, so these are all some brilliant ideas,” she says. “But I’d say for the purposes of this project, let’s narrow the list down to these.” She puts a line under his notes and makes a new list. 

“The Cheshire cat one appeals to me the most, but I think that’s more of a combination of transfiguration, charms and potions - you’ll need something to make you invisible, and the ability to do so in stages - and carefully as well, as you’d not want someone’s clothes to go before their body did.” 

She glances up. ” _No, Fred._ ”

He laughs. “Even I have lines I wouldn’t cross.”

“I wonder sometimes,” she mutters. She looks back at the list. “Okay, so I think the caterpillar/butterfly one would be the most doable. It mimics real life, with the twist that you’re doing the transformation back to caterpillar.” 

“And the hookah with the letters,” he adds. “Got to have that, or else what makes it so special?” 

She nods, pushing her hair back off her neck distractedly. He transfigures a hair band for her, handing it to her. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs. 

“I do like the idea of the eat me/drink me things, but that’s got such dirty connotations,” she says. She swats his knee as he snickers. 

“Which I’m sure is why it’s on this list. On the other hand, the idea that there’s a toggle based on the type of potion is kind of neat. But you already do a lot of that with the snackboxes, don’t you?” 

“And it’s more of a potions thing,” he agrees. “In this case, the transfiguration would have to come from something you touch. That’s why I was thinking the Mad Hatter’s hat, or the pocket watch.” 

“What if it’s more simple, like an apron or a headband like Alice wears?”

He blinks. “And then you turn into Alice? Or, like, your outfit?” 

“Yes, the outfit!” she enthuses. “And then you remove the headband, and your outfit turns back.” 

“And for boys, it could be the hat, with the bow tie and the yellow jacket,” he muses. 

“And it would be quite marketable,” she adds quietly. “Assuming you could get the licensing. I wonder how that would work between Disney and the wizarding world?” 

“You’re brill, you know that?” He pulls her into a hug. 

And oh, Merlin, Fred gives amazing hugs. It’s full body, and he doesn’t pull back right away, squeezing just the right amount that she feels safe for the first time in ages. He even does that back rubbing thing that her father does when he hugs. It’s really nice. 

Before she knows it, she’s relaxed into his embrace and all the tension of the past couple weeks seems to recede. 

She’s reluctant to pull away, but just as she thinks she should, something shifts between them. His lips press against her neck and before she can even think, _bad idea_ , she’s tilting her head to the side so he can have better access. 

His arms shift, hands moving down her back slowly to cup her arse. He kisses the skin of her neck and sucks lightly, making her knees get wobbly. 

“Fred…” she says, meaning to tell him stop, but then he tilts up her chin and kisses her. 

It’s intoxicating, this feeling. Her brain is always on, always processing a hundred things at once, but when he touches her, it goes quiet and she can simply enjoy what she’s feeling. She doesn’t think about the fear she felt for those ten days while waiting for her period, or all the things that could go wrong. She’ll worry about that later. 

All of his notes tumble to the floor as he pushes her back into the couch, his hands roaming. Hers aren’t exactly idle; she’s touching his bare skin before she’s quite conscious of having stripped him of his robes, jumper and shirt. 

She doesn’t resist when he draws her knickers down her legs. She kicks them off impatiently while he gets his trousers undone and shoved down. He kisses the inside of her thigh before putting his mouth on her. It feels really good, so she squeezes her eyes shut and sucks in a breath or moans every time he hits a particularly good spot - and they’re all really, really good spots. She’s so aware of his hair brushing her thighs. She runs her fingers through it, likes the way it feels. He hums against her and oh, that feels good, too. 

She tugs on his hair a bit. “Want you.” 

He’s more than ready, almost graceful in the way he manages to surge from lying between her legs to braced above her. It takes a couple tries for him to hit the right spot and then he’s sinking in, both of them moaning loudly. 

When he kisses her, she tastes herself on him. He kisses like he does everything else - with a lot of passion and a bit of mischief, nipping at her lips and teasing her with little flicks of his tongue. 

He comes first and she tries to swallow back the disappointment, right until he goes back down on her. He’s more enthusiastic than talented, but he hits the right spot and she says, “there, right there, just like that!” 

His tongue teases her to completion - and even then, he doesn’t stop. 

His refractory period is short and it’s after her second orgasm on his tongue that they hit on what may be the best position for sex. He’s sitting with his feet propped on the ottoman that had appeared, with Hermione in his lap, her hands braced on his shoulder and the back of the couch for balance. The way he’s slouched down means that her breasts are bouncing in his face and he looks up at her with a wicked grin even as he flicks his tongue over her nipple. 

“Oh,” she breathes. “Do more of that.” 

He laughs and sucks and licks at her breasts while she undulates her hips and bounces. 

In minutes, she’s keening, and it’s the best orgasm she’s had so far in her life. If they’re all like this, she can understand why people get so stupid about sex. 

She flops on him, exhausted, and he takes over, flipping them so she’s on her back with him on top. She brushes his hair out of his eyes and he says, “You feel so good wrapped around me, Hermione.” 

He closes his eyes and comes. His face when he does is kind of ridiculous, red and sort of grimacing, but she’s pleased. She likes that she can make him feel that way. 

After, he kind of collapses on her. He’s heavy, pressing her down into the cushions, but she doesn’t mind; rather likes it, in fact. His skin is so warm and his breath stirs the damp curls at her neck. After the first time, she’d ached for a day or so after; which had left a mantra of, “I had sex with Fred,” running through her head at inconvenient times, leaving her flushed and wanting more. She gets the feeling this won’t slow it down any. 

After a minute, he pulls out with a slightly pained sound and rolls to the side, bringing her with him and pushing his nose into her neck. 

Fred Weasley is a cuddler. It’s really stupidly endearing.

Unfortunately, after a while, her brain fires back up again and she can’t help but muse at the absurd situation she’s found herself in. 

“I don’t do this,” she muses, looking at the weird polyester pattern in the couch. This is definitely Fred Weasley’s idea of a den; the pattern is tacky. She’s pretty sure she’s seen it somewhere, too. 

“Apparently, you do,” he says, his amusement apparent. 

She looks up at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d accuse you of potioning me. But you wouldn’t.” 

He tenses and pulls his head back so he can look her in the eyes. “Do you believe I would? Even a little?” 

“No,” she admits. “It’s just...almost easier to believe than my own reckless behavior. You’re a bad influence.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Hermione. Well, except when you were moaning my name, that was pretty spectacular.” 

“Shut it,” she says, blushing. “But really, I’m not the kind of girl to sleep around.” 

“How many people are you sleeping with?” 

“Just you.”

“Then you’re not sleeping around. Granted, I’d not have expected this sort of thing of you, either, but you did start it.” 

“I did not!” she says hotly. She flushes when he snorts and she hits at his shoulder half-heartedly. 

“That wasn’t you behind the armor? Because all I was doing was keeping you shielded from the goon squad.” 

She drops her head. “You’re…”

“---right?” 

She nods. He chuckles as he sits up, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin lightly on her breastbone. It’s a little painful, but he grins up at her. 

“Hermione, you’re allowed to be human. To want someone. Especially me.” 

“Yes, because of course everyone wants you.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Not everyone, not by a long shot,” he says easily. “It takes brains and courage to handle the likes of me.” 

She laughs to cover the way his words make her feel, but he’s got an inordinately pleased look on his face, so she didn’t succeed.

“But I’m also supposed to have more self-control. I’m a prefect. How can I possibly expect others to obey rules if I’m breaking them?” 

He breathes in deeply, contemplating her. He’s still got a bit of the sex-smug look he was wearing earlier, but it’s fading, his usual sharp-eyed wits coming to the fore. “The rules are stupid.” 

She reels back and he grabs her wrist as she flails. 

“Hermione, whoa. I’m not saying all rules are stupid. But when rules become absolute, they become tyrannical. When rules are there simply to exert control over others without benefitting them, then they need to be destroyed.”

“But what we’re doing is --” 

“--against the rules? Or wrong? Wrong would mean that it’s done carelessly and deliberately to hurt others. Who are we hurting?” 

“Well, it is rather careless, isn’t it? What if I get pregnant? What if you - or I, but since you’re the only one I’ve ever had sex with, slightly more likely to be you - have a disease?” 

He looks at her, gobsmacked. 

“What, did you not think of those things?” she asks primly.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t think I was your first time,” he says, reaching up to tug on his already messy hair absentmindedly. She tugs his hand away, running her hands through it carefully, attempting to detangle it without hurting him. 

He slumps against the back of the couch and stares. She shifts to maintain her balance and he makes a noise as they come into intimate contact. She raises an eyebrow. 

“Who did you think I’d been with?”

“I dunno, Krum, I guess. I hadn’t really thought about it. I mean, if I had, I’d assume you’d go for something more...romantic. Or someone sweet and kind, and maybe a little awkward, like Longbottom.” 

She makes a face. “Neville’s very kind, but he’s not…”

“Handsome? Witty? Brilliant and hilarious?” 

She huffs at him and he grins. He flexes his hips and his prick presses against her ever so slightly. For Merlin’s sake. 

“The point is that the harmful part could happen. Being expelled is harmful. Our parents and your siblings and Harry would all be hurt by that. Or what if this causes problems between us down the line?” 

He licks his lips. Hermione flushes, thinking about what that tongue might still taste. 

“One, it’s a calculated risk. I’ve only had sex with one other person, and both of us were first timers. Secondly, you can’t be pregnant - I’m on a potion.” 

“You’re on a potion,” she repeats, incredulous. 

“Yes,” he says. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m not on the pill, no. But wait, are you saying boys can take a potion to not get a girl pregnant? Why haven’t I read about this?” 

He blinks at her. “Bloody hell, the girls haven’t talked to you lot yet? I’ll have a chat with Angelina, this is something the upper years should be discussing with you all. But yes, in short.” 

“It’s not like that in the muggle world,” she says. “There’s a pill designed for women, and condoms and the like, but the men aren’t generally considered responsible for preventing reproduction.” 

Fred makes a disgusted sound. “Well that explains a few things. It’s designed specifically to ensure I can’t get anyone up the duff. Unless we both agree.” He shifts again; she makes a noise before pressing her lips together. His hand slides across her back and under her arm, brushing the side of her breast. 

“And I sort of assumed you’d be the responsible kind of witch who’d be on a potion even if you didn’t plan on having sex with anyone before marriage,” he adds and his eyes widen again, but this time with something between horror and glee. “Which makes me the more responsible one of the two of us.” 

“Bloody hell,” she swears. 

“I know. You’re a bad influence, Granger.” 

She starts giggling at the look on his face, and after a moment, he joins in. They laugh at each other until she’s clutching her belly, not even sure what’s so hilarious anymore, except that she’s sitting with a starkers Fred Weasley and they’ve had sex and he looks happy. Slowly, her gasps and laughter slows enough that she can get some air. 

“Seriously, though, oh my god,” she says. “So it’s a calculated risk…”

“Yes,” he says, still grinning.” And, even if we DID get caught or something happened, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. What’s the worst case scenario out of this?” 

“I get pregnant, we get caught, we get expelled, our future’s a bloody wreck?” 

He grins at her, the stupid git. “If you get pregnant, we’ll deal with it. Whether you make the choice to keep it or not, we’ll deal with it together, but you most likely won’t because again,” he points to himself, “responsible potion taker. If we get caught, there will be some yelling and some embarrassment and loss of house points, and possibly some hurt feelings, but at most, people will be angry and judgmental for a while and then they’ll get over it. If you decided to keep this hypothetical child, then our genetics would combine to create a curly, ginger-haired genius that would make McGonagall faint over the prospect of teaching, both in delight because of aforementioned genius, and out of horror, because of the realization that the Granger influence can corrupt even the most exemplary of people.” 

She chuckles a little at that. But still. He presses her finger to her lips when she starts to speak. 

“You won’t get expelled; you’ll just have to serve a million detentions, which - yes, that woman is bloody horrid and expulsion might be easier, actually - but even if you did, there are other ways of getting your education. You can still study and take your OWLS at another school or via home study. And you, Hermione Granger, are too brilliant and too bloody headstrong to let a setback derail your future.” 

She melts, hips shifting unconsciously. He bites his lip, eyes on her mouth where his finger still rests. 

“As for this being something you ‘don’t’ do, well, the fact remains that you are indeed doing it right this very moment. For all you like to pretend to be a good, rule-abiding girl, you’ve been right there breaking rules alongside Harry and Ron - and all of us - since first year. Hell, look at this summer, and a few weeks ago when you and I snuck out to the muggle cinema - which started all of this. You’re as willing to break the rules as I am when it suits you. And do you know why that is?”

“No, but I take it you’re going to enlighten me?” She nips at his finger; he smirks and presses it past her lips. She sucks, feeling his prick twitch against her, filling again. 

“Because rules,” his breath hitches a little, “are for people who can’t or won’t think or act for themselves. You can and you do. Now, it’s time for you to make a decision, and be quick about it: Another round, or shall we make our way back to the tower?” 

She reaches over and grabs the map, studying it for a moment. “Filch and Mrs. Norris are blocking our path.”

“I suppose that means we just have to stay here and pass the time until the coast is clear,” Fred says solemnly. 

Hermione smiles at him, biting her lip. “I suppose one more won’t hurt.” 

He grins and grabs her around the waist, pulling her down beneath him. “Attagirl.” 

***

When they sneak back to the tower, he grabs her hand and pulls her in for a hug and a quick kiss before they part. 

“You won’t tell anyone, right?” she asks. 

He smirks. “I’m just your dirty little secret, huh Hermione?”

“Don’t be silly,” she says, smacking him. “But I had more than enough people talking last year what with Rita Skeeter and Viktor Krum.” 

“I know, I’m just teasing you.” 

“Besides, you can’t tell me it’s not fun, sneaking around,” she adds lightly, wondering why he looks closed off suddenly, and why she cares. 

“Of course. Another rule broken.” 

He doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Instead, he waves and heads toward the boys’ dormitory. 

She spies one of her books on the table near the window so as he goes upstairs, she crosses to get it and nearly jumps a mile when she realizes she’s not alone. 

Parvati is sitting in one of the chairs, almost hidden. Crookshanks is sitting in her lap and she has a spread of tarot cards on the table in front of her. Hermione suppresses a derisive thought about Divination, especially when she realizes that Parvati just saw what happened. Her eyebrows are high and she’s smirking. 

“Transfiguration project, huh?” 

“Yes,” Hermione says. “Er, Fred wanted to bounce some ideas off me.” 

Parvati nods, and looks down at the cat. “And by bouncing, you mean...” 

Hermione blushes, glad that the room is mostly in shadow. “Look, what you saw, it’s not what you think.” 

“I didn’t see a thing.”

“Not even in the cards?” Hermione teases lightly, trying to cover her nerves. 

Parvati smirks again, but it’s off. She’s been off since she got back, and at first, Hermione had attributed it to the stress of OWL years and the way Umbridge is treating everyone, especially Trelawney. Hermione, though, is starting to wonder if there’s more to the story. 

Hermione personally can’t stand Trelawney, but Parvati and Lavender adore her and regardless of her personal feelings, the woman doesn’t deserve the way Umbridge is treating her. 

“How’s Professor Trelawney?” 

Parvati shrugs. “As well as can be, I guess.” 

She seems like she’s not going to say anything else, but then she says, “I know what Trelawney seems like to everyone else. I know most of what she says is rubbish, especially about Harry. The thing about Divination, when you get past the smoke and mirrors, is that it’s not very magical at all; it’s simply about looking beyond the surface of things. Reading the signs that are already there. I think it’s more like psychology is for muggles.” 

Hermione blinks. “Reading people, you mean.” 

Parvati nods. “My grandmother once told me that I’m the heart and Padma’s the brains. But she also said that my form of knowledge is about choosing whether to see things as they are or how they can be. From there, it becomes a lot easier to predict what’s going to happen. For example, Harry. In the second task, he stayed behind and made sure all of you who were taken were safe. In first year, he ran off after you to save you from the trolls rather than come up with the class - or even tell a professor or prefect where you were. And while we don’t know all the details, we know he saved Ginny second year, and I can only guess about third year, but I have a theory that he somehow saved the hippogriff - and that it’s somehow tied to Sirius Black.” 

Hermione sits down, her eyes on Parvati. This side is something she rarely sees, though it’s been far more on display this year. The girl who giggles a lot with Lavender is rarely spotted. 

“So naturally, if I do a spread about Harry and what will happen this year, there’s a certain degree of fore-knowledge that I’m already pouring into the cards. Does that influence how the cards fall or does it influence how I read them? Does it even matter?” 

Hermione considers that. “If you knew what order the cards were in, you could subconsciously stack the deck, I suppose, but it seems unlikely.” 

“Yes. And that’s why we have the querent shuffle and cut them. The cards are there to provide clarity. It really shows me what I already know, or at least suspect based on Harry’s previous behavior. Harry doesn’t trust anyone in a position of authority except maybe Dumbledore, and I don’t even think he entirely trusts him. What’s more, he has no sense of self-preservation, which means the likelihood he’s going to do something heroic and foolish this year is very high.”

She meets Hermione’s eyes. “Harry is straightforward, though. I don’t need to do a spread on him to know what’s likely to happen. Other people and situations are a bit more difficult, and that’s where the cards can be helpful. I think in a way, it’s like you with your lists. You put it on paper and it becomes clear to you what your path should be. For me, the cards - and even the tea leaves - do the same thing.” 

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” Hermione admits. “So it’s less about predicting a set future as understanding what your current circumstances may be leading to?” 

“Yes. And it gives you the power to change your actions - and thus maybe your fate.” 

“I can see why they interest you a bit more now,” Hermione says. “I still think it’s dangerous, though, the way Trelawney “predicts” things.” 

She does the little air quotes and Parvati grins. 

“It’s irresponsible. It’s not working with all the facts, it’s using fear. And for what? A more interesting class?” 

“Like the Oracle, you mean?” Parvati asks. “The prophecy makes people act in the way that makes it come true, whereas if they’d just left well enough alone, it probably wouldn’t?” 

“Yes, precisely.” 

“I suppose. But then, you could also argue that if they didn’t act, it would have found another way to come true. I’m not sure I buy that, but it’s all ‘what if’ anyway. The fear thing…I don’t know, you may be right about that. But fear kicks in as a form of self-preservation. And when you have a class full of Gryffindors and Slytherins, maybe instilling a little fear is a good thing.” 

“True,” Hermione concedes. She’s exhausted and she really needs to shower, but she’s glad she had a chance to talk with Parvati. “I need to head to bed. But Parvati, if you need to talk or anything... I’m here, okay?” 

Parvati smiles, and this time, some of the darkness in her eyes lightens. “Thanks.” 

 

December 1997, A Tent Somewhere  
It’s a little easier when she’s not wearing the locket; then she can remember the reasons she has to survive. They’re a little bit easier to count. When it gets to be too much, she writes them down on a spare piece of parchment. 

It would be nonsense to most people - a random list of words and quotes. It’s not a long list. She doesn’t put names or anything that would identify specific people. But it’s something she can pull out and read and add to as necessary, and it’s her reminder of why it’s worth fighting. Why she can’t just give up and give in. 

She can’t think of a Christmas when she’s ever been more lonely or more scared or felt more hopeless. Her family has never been religious and most of the people in the castle aren’t, either. There are a few that show some elements - a fifth year that Hermione remembers seeing with a cross around her neck, someone else talking about going to church when they go home over the summer - but for the most part, magic and muggle religions don’t seem to mix much these days, beyond them keeping the holiday schedule. 

The air is crisp and cold and while they’ve cast passable heating charms, it still manages to seep into the tent. 

She closes her eyes. She’d love to have one of the twins’ patented daydreams now, because her own brain isn’t supplying much in the way that’s helpful for a bit of escapism. 

“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality,” she mutters to herself. 

Harry looks up at her. 

“Just a quote. Alice in Wonderland,” she says. “I saw it with the Weasleys that summer at Grimmauld place.” 

“I’ve always been partial to ‘eat me.’ Especially when Ginny says it.” 

She huffs a tired laugh, not even bothering to scold him. The fact that he can joke at all is encouraging. 

Harry wants to go to Godric’s Hollow. She’s not entirely sure it’s a good idea, but at this point - they’re not getting anywhere, really. She’s running out of books and patience in equal measure. 

She wonders how Ginny and Neville and the others are doing at Hogwarts. She hopes it’s not too horrid for them. She’d love to be safe within the walls. The thought leads to a memory of when Fred told her that she would find another way to complete her education. 

She sucks in a deep breath and holds onto his conviction. She sends a quick prayer up to the heavens for any god who’d appreciate it that he and the others remain safe and retires to her bunk. They’ll go to Godric’s Hollow. Maybe they’ll find something there. 

She feels a bit of a cramp low in her belly and sighs. She gets up and grabs her small cauldron and supplies and sets it in a corner, efficiently throwing together the potion. Harry watches her for a moment, then gets up and grabs the kettle and her tea tin. He frowns at it. “You’re getting low on the cramp bark.”

“I’ll see if I can find some later,” she says and closes her eyes. 

 

November 1995, Fifth Year  
“Oh, that’s really beyond the limits,” she mutters and snatches the sign down from the board. She marches off before Ron and Harry can say anything, fuming. She knows Ron isn’t going to go against his brother - why he’s been made prefect, she has no idea. He’s completely useless when it comes to enforcing any kind of discipline. 

Truthfully, Harry wouldn’t be much better. Dean would have been Hermione’s choice; he might not have been much for enforcing, but he’s quiet and steady and at least he stays out of trouble. 

Hermione is having a really bad day. She was up late trying to study, then this morning she ripped her favorite pair of tights on a bit of stone that was jutting out in the stairwell. She’s bloated and cramping, and her hair is doing… something, if the looks on Parvati’s and Lavender’s faces were anything to go by, and finally, Lavender had said, “Please, Hermione, I can fix it.” 

Lavender’s fix has left her with a headache and a raging need to punch someone. Her hair? Not so tame. 

And now this. 

She’s told the twins that they can’t test their products on first years, but they won’t listen to her - or anyone. When she sees them, she’s going to give them both a piece of her mind. Or maybe she’ll just hex them into oblivion. 

They aren’t at lunch and she doesn’t see them between classes. Normally, they’re coming out of Transfiguration when she’s leaving Charms, but today, they’re not in sight. 

“Did you warn them, Ronald?” 

He rolls his eyes and exchanges a look with Harry. 

“They’re not doing any harm,” Harry starts. 

Hermione’s head swivels so fast she swears she feels a tendon pop in her neck. They both hold their hands up, and Harry’s eyes go wide. She stomps off. 

By the time dinner rolls around, she’s sure that Harry and Ron have warned the twins off, because they are nowhere to be found. She’s also angry at the ten points she lost Gryffindor during DADA, and for absolutely no reason, that idiotic toad. Just because she wouldn’t know the difference between a shield charm and her own arse, she’s jealous and wants to keep the students in the dark. 

“Ignorant pus-filled pimple, she doesn’t deserve the term “witch,” she rants. 

“Blimey, Hermione, that’s damned near poetic,” Ron breathes. He puts his chin in his hand. “Go on.” 

Any other time, it would make her laugh but Professor McGonagall chooses that moment to walk past, shooing them on their way to their next class. Hermione does not like to be herded and only her deeply ingrained sense of discipline keeps her from turning her glare on McGonagall. 

Hermione spits a stray curl out of her face and curses; her hair is driving her nuts, too. Lavender’s taming seems to have only made it angry. 

“How can my hair be oily and frizzy at the same time?” she mutters to herself. She grabs her wand and transfigures a bit of parchment into a rubber band, scraping her hair back from her face and into a messy ponytail. At least it won’t be in her face anymore. 

Twenty minutes later, she’s about to give up and go the library, but is sure she saw red hair disappear around a corner on two different occasions now. She’s beginning to feel like they’re toying with her, because they’re inevitably gone by the time she gets to the next hallway. She’s all too aware that the Weasley twins know the castle better than just about anyone, and it’s likely they’re having a laugh at her expense. 

She rounds another corner near the hospital wing and hits paydirt; one of the twins is there with a small kid. She starts to open her mouth, about to let fly with some choice words, but a hand covers it from behind and pulls her to the side. She stomps down, but misses his foot and she’s pulled up flush against a body so her toes barely touch the floor.

She seethes, even as her body goes limp. 

“Don’t you dare upset her any more than she already is,” a low voice says in her ear. 

She sucks in a breath through her nose and thinks about biting down, but the sound of crying cuts through her anger. She sees George kneeling in front of a kid - Hufflepuff, by the looks of things, and covered in mud. 

George says, “This will make it feel better,” and he’s rubbing something into the kid’s hand. 

Hermione is still angry, but now it shifts entirely because she recognizes the cream and she recognizes the angry red on the back of the child’s hand. This is not the twins’ doing. 

She leans back against Fred and lets out a deep breath through her nose. 

He moves his hand away cautiously, ready to clap it down again if she yells. Instead, she takes a moment to compose herself. When George looks up, she disentangles herself and makes her way over. 

“Hey there,” she says softly. The girl - a tiny grubby thing with short, choppy hair - looks at her fearfully. Her hand is sitting in her lap.

“It’s okay, you’re safe here,” Hermione promises. “Looks like you had detention. And fell in a mud puddle?”

The child nods, her lip quivering. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you right as rain.” She inspects her hand and notices that the murtlap is doing its job. “It feels better already, doesn’t it? Fred and George get in trouble all the time, so they know just what to do to make it better, don’t they?” 

She stands up and nods to the twins. They melt back into the shadows, and she takes charge of the child. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, there’s a loo this way. What’s your name?” 

The child presses her lips together, trying to stop them from trembling. “Hailey,” she whispers. 

She leads the girl off, her blue eyes still swimming with tears and her face streaked with a bit of dirt. “What happened?” 

She listens to the story and her heart breaks. Still, the child seems to feel better once she’s poured her heart out into a sympathetic ear as Hermione escorts the girl back toward the Hufflepuff quarters. She’s digging into her bag so she doesn’t notice until it’s too late that the kid pulls out something from her pocket. 

She pops a piece of candy into her mouth before Hermione can stop her. She turns into a canary in a swirl of feathers. 

“Honestly,” she says, throwing up her hands. “Those two are so irresponsible!” 

The kid pops back into her form with a smile brightening up her face. “Brilliant,” she breathes. 

And, well, after that, Hermione doesn’t have it in her to be angry at the twins anymore. 

When she gets back Fred and George are waiting for her outside the common room. 

“Before you yell at us --”

“Why on earth would I yell at you?” she asks. “Because of you, she’s okay. I put her into Hannah Abbott’s hands.” She huffs, blows a escaped tendril of hair out of her face. “And she thinks the canary creams are brilliant.” 

“Wicked,” George says. “Ta, Hermione.” He darts in and kisses her on the cheek before popping into the common room, yelling for Lee. 

Fred glances around before pulling her into an alcove. 

“What--?” 

He pulls her in for a hug. She melts into it, even more so when he tells her she’s brilliant. They stay like that for a while; she needs it more than anything after the day she’s had. 

“Hermione,” he says into her neck after a few minutes. 

“Hmm?”

“Would you please call off your hair? I think it’s trying to eat me.” 

She hits his arm half-heartedly, but she manages to crack the first smile all day. He grins and kisses her forehead.

***  
Angelina and Katie, as well as Leanne and Alicia come tromping into the fourth and fifth year dorms. Angelina is swinging a cauldron while Katie is carrying a kettle and Leanne and Alicia are carrying armfuls of herbs. 

“It’s been brought to our attention that some of you are in need of some special potions lessons.” 

Hermione sits up with a frown, about to say something before she remembers what Fred said. She hops out of her bed, padding over to join the others. 

“What kind of potion?” Fay asks. 

“The kind that keep you from getting up the duff,” Katie answers cheerfully.

“That? I already know that one, been brewing it for ages,” Lavender says. She shrugs when they look at her. “I have two older sisters.” 

“Well not everyone grew up in households with older witches,” Angelina says. “And I can guarantee you, this is one that greasy git in the dungeons won’t ever teach.” 

The girls all laugh, but they follow Angelina into the lavatory and watch as she begins laying out the ingredients in order, explaining what each one is and what it does. 

She’s a good teacher and soon the simple potion is bubbling away in her cauldron. “We usually make ours together on the full moon; it doesn’t matter when your cycle is, the potion stays potent for a month after that. But make a new batch every full moon,” she warns. “The moon phases have an effect on it.”

Hermione feels a strange affinity with Professor Lupin. At least her potion smells and looks better than the foul brew he must drink. 

“You drink 250ml of this once per week and you can count on your period to show up every 28 days. No pregnancy, no being late.” 

“Now it’s my turn,” Katie says. She sets up the kettle. “There are three blends of tisanes that can help with your cycle. The first one I’m going to show you is best for cramping…”

The lesson might not be official, but it’s one of the most important ones Hermione ever learns at school.  
***

“Where were you at all evening, Hermione?” Ron asks.

“Library,” she lies automatically, sliding in next to him and opening her school books. 

“You spent all evening studying in the library and now you’re going to study some more?” He shakes his head. “I despair of you, you know.” 

She laughs. 

“Oh, there Fred is. Lee was looking for him earlier.” 

Hermione looks up to see Fred enter, pulling his scarf off. She can hear him whistling the tune to Robin Hood and smiles. 

Across the room, Colin Creevey’s head shoots up and he groans. “I’ll have that ear worm for weeks!”  
Hermione can relate. It’s sort of stuck in her head as well. 

“Studying now. I’ll help you with your work later, but you have to stay quiet and keep everyone away from me for an hour.” 

“Done,” Ron says promptly. 

An hour later, he thrusts his books in her face. “You must have picked up that earworm from Fred,” he says. 

“What?” 

“You were whistling the same tune Fred was earlier. I wonder what it’s from?” 

“Robin Hood,” Harry says, plopping down in a chair next to them. “The animated one.” 

Ron’s eyebrows go up. “Like that movie we saw over the summer?” 

Harry asks then about the movie and scowls about them having fun while he was stuck with the Dursleys, but he doesn’t blow up, so Hermione counts it as a win. 

***  
Hermione’s plans to go to the library before class are completely derailed when Fred pops out of nowhere. She starts to say something but he presses a finger to her lips. He merely grins when she gives him a dirty look and drags her toward the Great Hall, pointing at Umbridge’s latest decree. 

She purses her lips. 

“Feeling up for some teenage rebellion?” he asks, smirking. 

There are other students around and he hasn’t let go of her hand. She tries to tug it away surreptitiously, but while his grin is playful, the skin around his eyes tightens; he’s in a dangerous mood. 

She sees Hannah look at their hands with a raised eyebrow. Hermione tugs her hand away. “I’m not in the mood for your antics, Fred.” 

“Hermione, my own true love. My pumpkin pasty. My lovely lumpkin. Break some rules with me. Just one little teensy weensy rule? Would it really kill you?” 

Everyone around laughs. 

“Would it kill you to follow one?” she returns. 

He grabs his chest and drops on the floor dramatically. “Yes, yes it would.” 

She rolls her eyes and stomps off, but when she gets to the end of the hall, she looks back. Everyone else has dispersed or is talking about the rule, so they don’t notice her pause as she looks into her bookbag. 

“Eight inches, are we supposed to carry a ruler around?” someone asks. 

“If you ask the boys, they’d all tell you what eight inches are.” 

“And they’d all be off by four,” another girl says, to raucous laughter. 

Fred looks up at her and she winks, tilting her head. He shoves his hands in his pockets and strolls away casually, following her until they’re out of sight of the others. Then in a few strides, he catches up. He grabs her hand and pulls her into an unused classroom. It seems to be storage for all the desks that are in disrepair. 

Since he got banned from quidditch, she’s noticed a hardness to his eyes that was never there before. Fred can be merciless in his teasing, even borderline cruel but he always just manages to skirt the line and keep it from getting too mean. However, Umbridge is getting to him. She suspects he and George are going to break soon; she already knows they’re planning something - and it’s not just about their shop. She just hopes it doesn’t get them in more trouble than they can handle. 

The hardness is there now, despite the air of mischief surrounding him, he’s angry. It’s not aimed at her, though, and if this kind of mischief keeps him out of the more dangerous kind, she’ll just have to take one for the team. 

The transfiguration project has given them a convenient excuse to spend time together without raising suspicion although she thinks George knows more than he’s letting on. Then again, he seems to be spending a fair bit of time with Parvati, though she wonders if they’re getting up to what she and Fred are. 

And they do actually work on the project, though it’s half-hearted on Fred’s part, which only increases her suspicion that he doesn’t expect to finish it. 

Today, though, transfiguration is the last thing on his mind. She starts to protest as his hands are immediately working at her clothes, but he says, “There’s a whole kink about hot birds in school uniforms. Never understood it until now.” 

She flushes, her knickers getting wet as soon as he starts using that tone of voice. She’s uncomfortably aware of how helpless she is against it and how well he plays her. 

Come on, let’s scratch that off our bucket list,” he says and she grabs him by the tie and pulls him in for a kiss. 

“If I’d known you wanted to explore this particular kink, I’d have worn my hair in pigtails,” she says. 

He laughs against her lips and then they’re both shoving clothes out of the way; she hops up on a desk and with a quick wave of his wand, the desk legs lengthen so he can slide between her spread legs. 

It’s not as quick as she’d expected it to be but it ends up better for that. At one point, he pulls out and has her turn round so her arms are braced on the desk. He grabs her tie in his fist. He doesn’t pull hard, but the pressure on her windpipe is arousing, along with the thrill that comes from potentially getting caught. She comes just from his prick alone, which delights him. 

He’s gotten to know her body pretty well and she his; she clenches down on him as he pushes in and when he pulls her up so her back is against his chest, she manages to twist her head to the side so she can suck at his neck, hard. He pulls out just in time to come on her arse and thighs; she can feel it slide down over her buttock as she pulls away, panting. 

“Where’s my wand?” she asks. “I need to clean up.” 

“No,” he says in that low voice, and he’s looking her over with an almost predatory air when she turns around. 

“No?” she repeats. “What do you mean, no?”

He looks utterly debauched; she’s not sure when she had her hands in his hair, but it’s sticking up in all directions and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His shirt and jumper are rumpled and his trousers are still open, though he’s already tucked himself away. She can see a bit of ginger peeking out and wishes she had time to go to her knees and suck him. 

“You saw what the decree said.” 

“Yes, so?” 

Fred steps forward, pulling her against his chest and whispers in her ear. “Girls and boys are not to be within eight inches of each other.” He follows that statement with a nip to the back of her neck. 

She flushes and leans back against him. 

“Pull up your knickers,” he whispers. “I dare you.” 

“But that’s not very hygienic,” she protests. 

He brushes her hair back from her neck and kisses a few more times, moving from one side to the other. Damn him, she’s aroused again. He knows her neck is a weak spot. 

“Do you know how hot that would make me, knowing you’re sitting in class, covered in my spunk while that toad sits there with that awful little smile of hers, oblivious? It’s obvious she’s not getting any.” 

She cringes. “Ugh, I do not want to think about that woman and who’d be willing to touch her.” 

“Maybe Fudge,” Fred muses. “And that’s definitely not arousing in any way.” It doesn’t stop him from running his tongue over the shell of her ear. “No one will know, except us. It’s all I’ll be able to think about as I sit in class. I won’t give you a hickey, though if I thought you wouldn’t hex my bollocks off, I’d mark you up and show everyone you’re mine. But I’ve marked you in another way, now.” 

He rubs his hand over her arse cheek - he’s rubbing it into her skin, she thinks dimly, and he trails down between her legs, running the palm of his hand over her pussy. Now, it’s not just his fluid that he’s spreading, but hers. 

“And you’ve marked me the same way,” he adds. “I have you all over my cock, right now.” 

Hermione’s breath is coming heavy. She’s not sure if it’s because of what he’s doing or what he’s saying; there’s an air about him that has the hair on her arms standing straight up and she’d thought she was done, but she’s a third of the way to orgasm just from this. 

“I can’t,” she says weakly. “Fred, I--” 

“You can,” he says. “You’re Hermione Granger. You’re so much more than what they see, aren’t you? The best part is that it would be right under everyone’s nose and not a one of them suspect a thing.” 

Her heart is pounding against her ribcage; she’s so turned on, but his words are affecting her in another, far more dangerous way. She blinks and forces herself to focus on him; his brown eyes are dark with lust, and the way he’s looking at her makes her insides squirm with excitement and fear. It’s not of him, not at all, but it is of what kind of trouble he could get himself into - and how far she’s willing to go to keep him out of it. 

“How long can you handle it before you have to go to the loo and clean up? Or maybe, you’ll be so hot you’ll have to touch yourself. Maybe you’ll taste us both on your fingers.” He pulls his hand away and she whimpers; he presses them to her lips. Sucking has become a reflex when it comes to him; she closes her eyes as she swirls her tongue around those rough digits. 

“You’re so fucking hot, Hermione. Under that layer of prefect, you’re a tiger, aren’t you? I could go another round, right now.” 

“More of a lion, really,” she says. She’s amazed her voice doesn’t shake, but it is lower, every word carrying her desire for him. She leans forward, but he pulls back, shaking his head. 

“Come find me later. I need your brilliant mind,” he says and winks before straightening his clothes and grabbing his books. “Don’t be late.” 

He’s out the door before she can respond, the cheeky git. 

She knows she should clean up - his recklessness does not have to extend to her - but then she casts a tempus and after a quick tug of everything to make sure it’s back in place, she’s rushing out the door, cursing him up one side and down the other under her breath. 

Sitting in class is difficult. She’s bloody lucky that Charms is her first class and she can do the spells in her sleep. Umbridge is there observing and Hermione has a rush of satisfaction. Fred’s right, damn him; it feels good to be flouting that bitch’s ridiculous decrees right under her nose. That satisfaction wars with sheer discomfort, though, and she’s not sure if she’s more irritated with Fred for challenging her to do this, or herself for giving in. 

She is so aroused that she’s terrified her knickers will leave a damp patch, so at the end of class she waits, pretending to finish writing down a thought as the students and professors walk out the door. Then she packs hurriedly and checks her seat and her skirt to make sure there are no stains on the chair or her robes. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, she catches up with Harry and Ron. Ron doesn’t seem to notice that she’s flustered, but she’d been the last in the door beforehand and her hair is a tangled mess. She’s sure anyone getting close enough can smell it on her, and yet she feels deliciously naughty. 

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Harry asks, and she nods. 

She uses her fingers to at least get the worst of the knots out of her hair and transfigures a spare quill into a stretchy black headband. 

“I just got held up at the library before class and didn’t realize the time. This potions essay makes me feel like tearing my hair out.” 

“Well don’t do it literally,” Ron says, eyeing her quick motions as she pulls her hair back out of her face with the band. 

She finishes just in time for them to turn a corner where the twins are coming out of Transfiguration; Fred blinks at her hair and smirks; she licks her lips and drops her gaze to his crotch. It’s brazen and George catches it because he stutters for a moment before Fred smoothly finishes the sentence. He holds his books low and his eyes are dark. 

She bites her lip and ostentatiously fixes her tie, smoothing it down over her chest. 

She wants to care that someone else knows but she can’t, not when Fred looks so utterly pleased. It’s kind of funny, too, how George’s eyebrows go up and he looks from Fred’s still-mussed hair to the small mark peeking out of his collar, to Hermione and his jaw just drops. 

Harry and Ron don’t seem to notice anything. She marvels at their complete and lack of observational skills. Honestly, how they’re going to become aurors when they don’t even notice this is beyond her comprehension. 

“You okay there, George?” Alicia asks, appearing at his side. 

He nods and then seems to shake it off, favoring her with a shit-eating grin. 

“Yeah, just remembered something I have to do before Herbology.” 

He elbows his twin none too gently in the side and they walk away, heads bending together. George looks back once, eyes filled with a mix of glee and newfound respect. He almost bumps into a first year as they round the corner. 

“What was that all about?” Angelina asks, coming up behind them. 

They all shrug. 

“It’s the twins,” Ron says. “They’re up to something.” 

Hermione sighs while the others snicker. “It’s not funny,” she snaps. “They could get into serious trouble.” 

“Eh, they’re like cats, those two,” Ron says wisely. “They’ll land on their feet.” 

Angelina scowls. “Not always. Practice tonight, Ron. Please don’t get yourself stuck in detention.” 

Hermione makes it through her classes, but barely. She feels utterly debauched and completely turned on when she finds Fred in the Room of Requirement. 

“Have to go to the library since I didn’t make it this morning,” she says, pulling his loosened tie over his head. “But this time, I’m cleaning up first. Drove me crazy all day.” 

“You’re fucking brilliant, you know that?” 

“I take it George figured it out?” 

“You were pretty bleedin’ obvious,” Fred says and leans in to kiss her. “Can’t believe you did that!” 

“You play with fire,” she singsongs, and he laughs, even as he drops to his knees in front of her and pushes her knickers aside. “He’s not going to tell anyone, is he?” 

“Of course not.” 

Anything else she might have said to that is lost when his tongue makes contact with her cunt. 

***

And indeed, George doesn’t say a word, but for a day or two, she thinks he’s going to give it away with how he keeps staring, both eyebrows up. Finally, Katie calls him on it. “Hermione, what did you do to George? He looks like he’s seen a ghost!” 

“You’d look like that, too, if you got told off the way he did for testing on firstie’s again,” Parvati says from the corner. She winks when no one else is looking. 

Hermione ducks her head, hoping her hair would hide her blush - or her grin. 

“Puts our dear mother to shame, it does,” Fred adds. 

Katie narrows her eyes playfully. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she used a love potion on him, the way he’s been mooning after her.” 

The twins exchange glances and George snorts, shrugging. 

“I told him about Hermione’s work on my transfiguration project,” Fred says. “She might be terrifying, but she is bloody brilliant.” 

“I wish I’d asked for help, now,” George agrees. 

“Well, I’m not sure I could handle the both of you,” she says, eyebrow raising and then wonders what the hell has gotten into her when both of them grin, shark-like. 

“That’s what she said,” Fred says, mock leering, to which the rest of them either groan or, in the case of Ron, yelp out an “ew!” 

“Honestly, Ron, still haven’t figured out she’s a girl yet?” Ginny asks. 

Harry stifles a laugh behind a cough. Hermione reaches for her quill, pointedly not looking at any of them and trying to keep the smirk off her face. 

“My transfiguration is better than Fred’s anyway,” George says even while Ron is protesting that he recognizes that Hermione is a girl, he just doesn’t think his brothers should be flirting with her. 

“No it’s not.”

It is and Fred knows it as well as Hermione, but she says nothing.

“Is too. I can prove it. What do you say, Hermione? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Transfiguration, that is.” 

“Oh shut it, you two!” She stands up and gathers her books. “I’ve got to go to the library, and if you do want my help, _Fred_ , meet me there in half an hour.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he says, saluting. 

She does not meet either of their eyes when she leaves, but as soon as the portrait closes, she leans against the wall, laughing softly. 

“George and I share just about everything,” he says later, playing with her fingers idly. “But I think I might have to keep you for myself.” 

She turns and looks at him. “I’m not your possession. Though I do take your point. I’d prefer not to be shared, even with George.” 

“And I’m not your dirty little secret,” he bursts out, then looks like he wants to take it back. 

Hermione blinks. “What are you saying?” 

He shrugs, sits up with his back to her and grabs his pants. “I don’t know, it’s nothing.” 

She sits up next to him, pulling the sheet with her. “It’s not nothing. What did you mean by that?” 

He sighs, and his head drops. “Look, I like you, Hermione. But I’ve been fully aware that I’m a substitute for my brother this entire time.” 

“What? No you’re not,” she says, bewildered. “George is obviously attractive, but I don’t want him over you.” 

He snickers, letting his face fall into his hands. “Not George, though that’s heartening to know I’m the better twin. I meant Ron.” 

She rears back a little, dumbstruck. 

“I know I’m not the brightest of my age like some people in this room, but I’m not stupid.” 

“I know that all too well. But you’re not a substitute. I like you, you know.” 

“Yet you’re ashamed for anyone to know that.” 

“I’m not ashamed,” she insists, her insides squirming. “I told you, I just have had too many people prying into my relationships and I don’t need the gossip. And now, with Umbridge’s decree, it’s yet another reason to keep things quiet.” 

“That’s not the reason.” 

He stands up and searches for his pants. His skin is really pale and freckled, but it’s soft and smooth under her hands. His cock, flaccid as it is now they’ve satisfied their itch, is kind of cute, and she almost smacks herself in the forehead for thinking that a penis is cute. 

He’d never let her hear the end of it if he knew. 

She drags her eyes up to find him staring down at her bemusedly. “You just want me for my body,” he mocks. She doesn’t miss the sharp edge of his tone. 

“I like you, Fred,” she insists. “And it’s not that I don’t want anyone to know. Hell, Parvati knows. Sooner or later, people will find out.” 

She feels bad for throwing Parvati under the bus. Parvati won’t say a word to Lavender, not about this. 

“Parvati knows?” 

“She saw us walk in one night.” 

“Oh.” 

“So yes, that’s at least four people, and while I don’t think Parvati would willingly say anything, she is friends with the biggest gossip on the planet. So I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing, or I’d have obliviated her. I just don’t feel the need to go flaunting it.” 

He jumps in place as he pulls his trousers over his hips and buttons up. She makes a face in disappointment, but sighs and reaches for her bra. He catches the motion. 

“Merlin, woman, you’re insatiable. Has anyone besides me ever seen this side of you?” 

She shakes her head. “No, you do seem to bring out my worst instincts.” 

“That’s like the best compliment you could have ever given me.” His levity is a little flat. “But you still haven’t explained why you want to keep this a secret. The real reason.” 

She faces him with her hands on her hips. “What kind of authority would I have as a prefect if word got out that I’m fucking the biggest troublemaker in school? None whatsoever. It’s bad enough that I had to threaten to tell your mum to get you to stop testing on little kids. If word gets out about this, all anyone would see is me going off my head over an attractive boy and every single time I tried to get someone to behave, they’d laugh me out of the castle.”

She gets up and snatches her shirt and tie from the floor. She searches around for her wand and finds it sticking out from her robes. 

He’s silent as he pulls on his own shirt, leaving the collar open and the tie hanging loosely. 

“What, nothing to say?”

“So it is about me,” he says. He stalks toward the door. “I’m not acceptable because I’ll ruin your reputation. Funny, isn’t it? You sound exactly like a Malfoy.” 

“What? That’s rubbish.” 

“Is it? Reasons are different, results are the same.” He turns once as he gets to the door. “You know, Percy did the same thing. Look how that turned out.” 

“It’s not -- Fred, you said it yourself: acceptable risk, remember? I’m taking the risk, but you can’t blame me for wanting to keep it in the acceptable range.” 

“No, taking a risk would be to be yourself in front of everyone instead of pretending you have to be perfect all the time. Taking a risk would be not giving a damn what anyone else thinks and going with what you want.” 

When she walks in the common room later, he’s over with his brother and Lee, wands out and working on some kind of spell. 

“Goodnight, Hermione,” George calls as Hermione strides past toward the girls’ dorm. 

Fred doesn’t bother looking up. 

 

December 1995, Grimmauld Place  
She misses Fred, which makes no sense because he’s everywhere she turns. He doesn’t quite ignore her but he’s spent the past couple weeks actively avoiding being alone with her. 

When she’d asked about his transfiguration project, he’d shrugged. George keeps making sly remarks, which isn’t helping in the least bit. She’s taken to flipping him off, but that just seems to amuse the git. 

Well, at least someone is getting some amusement out of this crummy year. Hermione is beyond done with it, and things don’t seem to be looking up for next term, either. 

She’d have no problem continuing the avoidance thing, but Fred seems pretty freaked out by what happened to his father, and at least some of George’s remarks are getting increasingly unsubtle. She decides that discretion is the better part of valor and goes to find Fred. Besides, Sirius has been reminiscing about the time he roped Remus and James into seeing Rocky Horror Picture Show, and how they’d ended up in the cast. The thought of Sirius in lacy lingerie has her cringing, and Molly all scandalized that Sirius is even talking about it. 

She trudges upstairs toward the bedroom the twins share with the hope that she’s not going to walk into anything explosive. Luckily, when she steps inside, they just seem to be talking. George makes his excuses rather quickly, mumbling something about homework and shuts the door behind him. 

Unsure what to do now that she has Fred alone, she perches on the edge of his bed. 

“We’ve never done it in a bed, you know,” he says, watching her with a little smirk and his arms crossed over his chest. 

His biceps are well-defined and his t-shirt is pulled up enough that she catches a glimpse of the trail of hair that disappears into his pajama bottoms. Her mouth waters. He catches her looking and shifts his hips, smirking. 

“See something you like?”

She flushes. “I wanted to check on you. How is the transfiguration project going?” 

His lips twitch. “It’s going well. Want to see what I’ve managed so far?” 

Her eyes meet his. He’s staring at her with a quiet intensity. She wants to get rid of the dark shadows under his eyes; he’s too pale - they all are, really, everything this year doing its best to drag them down. 

“Not really. I think I’d rather have a hug,” she says, because asking for a hug means she can hug him back. 

He comes over and stands before her. “Okay, then.” 

When she stands up, it brings them into contact and he wraps his arms around her. She breathes into it, tucking her head against his chest and feels him relax a little at a time. Neither of them seem ready to let go. 

“Your hair always smells good,” he mumbles into it, rubbing his hand up and down her back. 

“Even when it’s trying to eat you?” 

“Even then,” he confirms. 

He pulls back just enough to look down at her. “Hermione,” he says softly, his eyes searching and soft. It undoes her a little; enough that she tilts her face up to meet his lips. 

They snog for a while before she realizes they’re horizontal and she’s naked. 

“How do you do that?” she asks. “I completely lose my head - and my knickers - around you.” 

He grins. “Let’s see if a bed is any better than our couch. You look bloody fantastic spread out under me.” 

She moans and starts tugging at his clothes. There’s a sound out in the hall; he freezes for a moment, then snatches his wand from the bedside table and mutters two incantations at the door, locking it and throwing up a silencing charm.

He moves slowly, more her pace than his, and he alternates between kissing her passionately and sucking marks into her neck as he fucks her. She holds tight to his shoulder, feeling the muscles move and bunch. She scrapes her fingernails up his back so he hisses and thrusts harder; she does it again and he moans into her neck and grabs her wrists, pressing them to the bed. “So fucking hot,” he tells her. “Gorgeous and brilliant and I --” 

He stops to spit some of her hair out of his mouth and grins. “That hair, I swear it’s sentient.” 

“The fact that you can say ‘sentient’ during sex is kind of hot,” she mumbles. 

He chuckles and that sends vibrations against her, making her clench down on him. 

“Sentient,” he says. “Quiescent. Er, penultimate. Misericordia.” 

She starts giggling and he moans as he grinds into her. “Crepuscular,” he gasps out, which makes her laugh outright. 

He throws his head back, biting down on his lip and closing his eyes. Then, quicker than she can react, he pulls out and flips her over, pulling her to her hands and knees. He takes her from behind, managing to get a hand down between her legs, using his long, dexterous fingers to help bring her off. It feels so much deeper when he fucks her from this angle; she feels like she has no control over anything, so she just concentrates on the feelings of his skin hitting hers and the sounds he makes, and lets go. 

***  
Over the holidays, she has no idea how Ginny and the others don’t catch on. She chalks it up to the holiday cheer and relief that Mr. Weasley is on the mend and they’re away from that evil woman for a couple of weeks. Sirius and Harry are both still moody and ill-tempered, but honestly, Hermione’s just about used to that by now. It’s not like she can entirely blame Harry, but she does wish he wouldn’t take it out on his friends. 

Fred’s utterly weird sense of humor is something of a relief in comparison, so if she spends a lot of her time with him, well that’s to be expected. 

He’s cornered her in the back of the Black family library and has her pushed up against the table, fingers pushing her skirt up as his lips and tongue work their way down her neck when they hear Mrs. Weasley’s voice. 

“And where’s George gone off to? He’d better not be harassing poor Hermione just because she’s a prefect. Honestly, you two could learn a thing or two from her.”

George says, “I told you, mum, he wasn’t feeling well and has gone for a kip. He didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Up all hours coming up with some new product likely to turn the rest of my hair grey, no doubt.” 

Instead of stopping, Fred continues to slide his hand up her thigh. Hermione pushes at his hand, which throws her balance off and she knocks a book off the table with her hip.

They both freeze. 

“What was that noise?” 

“Probably a poltergeist or ghost,” Ginny says. 

“Or Kreacher being creepy,” Ron adds.

Hermione wants to call him out on that, but she’s working very hard to keep quiet while Fred’s fingers keep straying. 

_What are you doing? Are you mad? _she mouths, but it’s not her face he’s looking at.__

__She shakes her head at him wildly, and he gets a faceful of hair. He grabs her wrists and pulls them behind her, raising an eyebrow in challenge. His lips form silent words._ _

___Tell me to stop._ _ _

__She opens her mouth, but he presses his fingers slightly against her sensitive spot and it’s all she can do not to moan. Her eyes flutter and he grins, repeating the action._ _

__She’s going to kill him, probably right in front of his mum. Assuming of course, Mrs. Weasley doesn’t hex the both of them into next week._ _

__She can hear their voices getting closer but she’s not really paying attention to the words, desperately hoping they’ll not come back here, hoping they’ll go away but knowing it’s futile._ _

__Sirius steps into view, smirking as he says something to Harry, who’s right behind them. He’ll see them any second and he’ll say something. There’s a long, heart-dropping moment just before he turns, and then it’s too late._ _

__His eyes widen slightly, but he just says, “Oh, Molly, I’m terribly sorry, but we can’t clean in here today. I’d completely forgotten - things totally inappropriate for impressionable young minds. Molly, take the children downstairs. Now, please. Would you be so kind as to tackle the...”_ _

__Harry turns and his eyes widen. “Is that - was that?”_ _

__Hermione squeaks in mortification._ _

__“Oh bloody hell,” Harry wheezes, practically choking on air._ _

__“Yes, yes,” Sirius says, wincing. “I’ll obliviate you in a moment Harry, just hold on.”_ _

__He manages to to herd them out, to Hermione’s combined horror and relief. The worst part is that she’s still bloody turned on, not helped by the way Fred is shaking with silent laughter. He’s still touching her and his fingers are pressing inside her and she wants to kill him and kiss him at the same time._ _

__“Oh, fuck,” she says, half-panicked. Her body, however, doesn’t care. It just wants more of what Fred is giving her. “They saw us.”_ _

__“I’ll talk to them,” Fred promises, pushing his hips to meet hers. “Later.”_ _

__“Don’t talk, obliviate,” she says, panting, and pushes back against him. “For all our sakes.”_ _

__***  
“Yes, now you all be good, Ron, you’ve your -- oh, Fred, you’ve a bit of hair on you. Another curly one; I swear, between you and George, your robes are covered. How on earth are the two of you attracting so much of Hermione’s hair? You’re not using it in one of your ridiculous inventions, are you?” _ _

__Harry glances over at Hermione, pressing his fist against his mouth._ _

___Both of them?_ he mouths, eyes wide. _ _

__She shakes her head violently, giving him a dirty look._ _

__Harry glances at Fred unsubtly, head tilted. She gives him a small nod. And then freezes when she realizes that Bill is watching both of them with an eyebrow raised and a growing smirk._ _

__Well, shit._ _

__January, 1996, Fifth Year_ _

__If January is any indication, 1996 is not going to be any better than 1995. At times, she’s not sure if she’s keeping Fred sane or if Fred is keeping her sane. They have a lot of sex in a lot of places. It becomes something of a challenge._ _

__She hates herself a little for giving in so easily to her emotions, but the sex makes her feel really good when there’s very little else to cling to. Knowing that she’s subverting Umbridge makes it particularly delightful, and it’s nice to work off a bit of frustration with an attractive bloke._ _

__If only said bloke would stop tempting fate by cornering her in places others can discover them._ _

__“Sometimes, I think you want to get caught,” Parvati says one evening as the two of them hang out by the fire, finishing up potions essays._ _

__Hermione isn’t sure she’s wrong. She wonders what it would be like, to be able to go up to Fred and kiss him in the middle of the common room the way Parvati can with Seamus, but every time she thinks about doing it, she cringes. That would have people’s tongues wagging quite a bit, and she’s already associated with Harry, which is trouble enough - though Hermione is not ashamed of that and stands by him proudly. It’s just that Professor McGonagall would expect her to keep Fred in line - and by extension, George - and she has enough on her plate with Harry and Ron._ _

__And yet. Fred is fit and smart and he makes her laugh. He’s well-liked by everyone but the Slytherins (and Kenneth Towler; and she’d really like to know the story behind that), so would it be so bad? It would certainly be a finger in the face of those nasty little bints who thought Krum’s interest in her was a fluke._ _

__Then again, people not knowing actually makes all the sneaking off easier. Because Hermione and Fred aren’t expected to be together, people don’t assume they are when they are. And if Umbridge were to find out she’s with Fred… well, Hermione doesn’t know what the toad would do, but she’s sure it would not be pleasant. For either of them._ _

__Her own logic just hurt her own brain, and that’s saying something. Namely, that it’s probably time for her to wrap up this essay and go to bed._ _

__She sighs. Parvati smiles sympathetically before she leaves. “Don’t think too hard, H.”_ _

__That’s the other bright spot of this year: The Patil twins have become real friends. Granted, they’re not Harry and Ron-level friends, or even Ginny, but they are DA and there’s nothing like a common enemy to unite them._ _

__Parvati and Lavender have been weird with each other and Lavender spends more time with people like Eloise Midgen and Romilda Vane. She’s still Parvati’s best friend and Parvati bristles whenever anyone even so much as implies anything bad about her, but Parvati chooses to spend some of her down time either in the library with Hermione and Padma studying or planning new ways to overthrow Umbridge._ _

__The Weasley twins have their way of doing things and Hermione and the Patil twins have theirs. Padma and Hermione are about two steps away from organizing a sit-in on the Wizengamot to remove the toad and Ministry interference from Hogwarts._ _

__“They’re ruining our education!” Padma whisper-shouts._ _

__Hermione agrees._ _

__Parvati sits back and sighs. “If Cedric’s body and Dumbledore’s word won’t convince the Ministry, a sit-in isn’t going to change their mind. If anything, they’ll use it as more proof that we’re out-of-control and need more discipline.”_ _

__They argue about it for a while, but have to concede that Parvati is probably right._ _

__“We just have to get rid of her ourselves,” Parvati says. “And while we don’t have to use use George and Fred’s methods all the time, they are effective.”_ _

__So they use their particular talents (and prefect badges when it is warranted) to help the Weasley twins and the rest of the school with pranks - even if it’s only to come up with ideas that Hermione and Parvati feed to them._ _

__“Well, while you brains come up with more ideas, I’m off for a date with Seamus,” Parvati says. She grins cheekily at Hermione. “Don’t wait up.”_ _

__Padma rolls her eyes._ _

__“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Hermione says primly._ _

__She can hear Parvati snickering. Padma raises an eyebrow, but says nothing._ _

__February 1996, Fifth Year, Hogsmeade  
Navigating through the crowds in the Three Broomsticks is difficult with how crowded it is, and Hermione’s got her hands full of butterbeer, Harry just behind her. _ _

__The twins are holding court in the middle of the pub to an assorted group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Colin Creevey and his friend Euan are on the edge of the crowd listening avidly as George relays a bawdy tale._ _

__Hermione purses her lips together and frowns, but Harry stops to listen and he’s grinning._ _

__“But wait,” Colin says, eyes widening when everyone’s attention is on him. “Are you saying that wizards can get pregnant?”_ _

__"Of course we can't, Colin we're wizards, not miracle workers," Fred says reasonably._ _

___"I suppose you could hypothetically --" George starts._  
"Create a wizard space,” Fred picks up the thread, “but-"  
"Think of the children!"  
"Think of the birth!"  
They look at each other and shudder theatrically.  
"Little Shelly Creevey, shat out her dad's bum," George declares. “Would you really wish that on your sprog?” 

__"Please, just stop," Colin says, eyes closed. “Ew.”_ _

__George and Fred turn nearly identical grins on Colin._ _

__"You see? Nature knows best," George says._ _

__"Like all mums do,” Hermione says in her most put-upon voice. “Now, could you please stop blocking the path and let us through?”_ _

__***  
Fred pulls Hermione toward the shrieking shack by the hand; she reluctantly goes along with it. She glares at him because she’s covered in red, heart-shaped glitter thanks to one of his and George’s glitter bombs, but it had been something of an excuse to get up and stomp out of the Three Broomsticks with him following, laughing and shouting apologies. _ _

__“I think if I see another Valentine, I’m going to commit murder,” she says. She pulls out her wand. “If I try to banish this, is it going to multiply?”_ _

__He grins lazily. “You could try it and find out.”_ _

__“Or I could hex you into next month,” she retorts. She glances over her shoulder nervously. They’re still holding hands; he won’t let go._ _

__“Chill, luv, no one saw us except maybe Parvati,” he says. He pushes her hair back and reels her in for a hot kiss. “Want to find out why they call it the shrieking shack?”_ _

__She groans. “That’s terrible.”_ _

__She does shriek then as he starts to tickle her. She tries to duck away, but he captures her up, picking her off the ground easily and says, “Come on, little red, let the big bad wolf eat you up!”_ _

__His terrible puns really aren’t a turn on she tells herself, but the sparkle in his eyes and his gorgeous grin promise her a world of fun, so she doesn’t protest when he pulls her deeper into the building._ _

__Fred waves his wand in a lazy arc with a word she’s never heard before and the glitter vanishes._ _

__He has one arm tucked behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. She rubs her fingers over his chest and dips over his sternum. He flips his hand over and grabs her fingers, entwining them._ _

__“Did you hear the big row between Parvati and Lavender this morning?” he asks._ _

__She grimaces. “How could I not? It was in our dormitory, wasn’t it?”_ _

__He smirks. “Heard it was something about George?”_ _

__She shrugs. “Seamus and George, I think. Lavender called Parvati a slut.”_ _

__“Ah. Bitch.”_ _

__“Something has been off with Parvati this whole year,” Hermione says. “It’s more than her fighting with Lavender.”_ _

__“Well, whatever it is, it’s not stopping her and Seamus from shagging like bunnies,” Fred says with a grimace. “Not that I blame either one of them, mind. But it was not a fun scene to walk in on, and even less fun to explain away to the younger kids. I don’t think we succeeded.”_ _

__Hermione sits up, pulling her hand from his. “Younger kids? Where was this? When?”_ _

__“It was that abandoned corridor, and we were getting them out of the way of the toad and her goons. One of them set off a dungbomb, and she was on the warpath,” he says slowly, looking at her with an eyebrow raised._ _

__“So you weren’t trying to find a place to experiment on them?”_ _

__“Moi? Never.”_ _

__She huffs a sigh and turns around to grab her clothes. “Come on, we need to be getting back.”_ _

__“Hermione, I solemnly swear that I did not experiment on the firsties.”_ _

__She nods. “Sure. But we still have to get back.”_ _

__“You don’t believe me.”_ _

__“I believe you personally weren’t experimenting on the first years, but that doesn’t mean George and Lee weren’t.”_ _

__“So what if they were? They were doing nothing harmful.”_ _

__She sucks in air and rolls her eyes. “You certainly didn’t try to stop them.”_ _

__“Hermione --”_ _

__

__“This world is dangerous enough without you lunatics adding to it!” she yells. “God, the number of times Harry nearly died in first year alone isn’t enough for you? Or me, or your brother or sister? There are real horrors out there, and yet instead of trying to help fight against You-Know-Who, you think it’s perfectly fine to toy with people for a laugh.”_ _

__“Voldemort and his followers instill fear, that’s their modus operandi,” Fred says. “What’s life worth living or fighting for if you have no joy? No fun?”_ _

__“Fun at the expense of other people. It’s irresponsible at best and cruel at worst.”_ _

__He makes some noise and when he sits up, his lips are pressed together tightly._ _

__“Is that how you see me?”_ _

__“You go too far, Fred. Not everything can be cured by a joke, because not everything is funny. You got three OWLS, and you’re going to, what? Open a joke shop? Fight You-Know-Who with a fizzing whizbee or take out a death eater with a few puking pastilles? This isn’t Neverland, and you’re not Lost Boys.” She snorts. “Grow up.”_ _

__Fred swallows hard, his jaw clenched. For the first time, Hermione sees what Fred looks like truly angry -- and with a sinking feeling, she knows she’s pushed him too far. She knew as soon as the words left her mouth._ _

__“I do wish you’d make up your mind, Hermione. Are our products dangerous, or not?”_ _

__“Oh come off it, you know there’s a difference between a first year and a death eater.”_ _

__“And yet you, Harry and my twit of a brother bested the big baddie when you were first years.”_ _

__“That’s different.”_ _

__“Why? Because you’re smart and Harry’s the Boy-Who-Lived? Surely you don’t think our products are as dangerous as going after the Philosopher’s Stone.”_ _

__“Well…” she falters, realizing he has her cornered. “No, of course not. And we shouldn’t have, but we tried to tell Profes--”_ _

__He laughs mirthlessly. “Oh, but we’re so irresponsible and stupid in your eyes. How could any of the rest of us possibly function without you to tell us what to do and how to think? For all that you’re so damned smart, Hermione, you don’t know shite about me.”_ _

__“Fred,” she says, stung._ _

__“You should really be getting back before someone sees you. Oh, but I guess maybe everyone’s too stupid to figure that out, too, right?”_ _

__He grabs his trousers and pulls out a joint. “I’m going to mellow out. Or do I have to suffer your disapproval for that as well, mum?”_ _

__She scoffs. “Oh, that’s rich.”_ _

__“Says the girl who threatened to tattle. Because yes, you know all about being the mature one, don’t you? But if that’s the case, then why are you in the shrieking shack with irresponsible me?”_ _

__“I don’t--”_ _

__“I know you don’t,” he interrupts, and now his mouth is twisting into a bitter little smile. “You just keep me hidden away so no one can see how much you like it.”_ _

__“Not this again,” she groans, and jerks on her jumper, making her hair staticky and stand out in a halo around her face._ _

__“I can’t do this anymore,” he says. “I’m not going to change who I am so I can fulfill your impossible - and frankly hypocritical - standards.”_ _

__Hermione stares at him, hurt. “I’m not a hypocrite,” she protests. “Just because I care about whether or not you hurt other people or yourselves -- “_ _

__“Oh get off your broomstick and admit it: you don’t care that I break rules or cause drama, it’s just an excuse.”_ _

__She rolls her eyes. “It’s not an excuse.”_ _

__He’s silent._ _

__“It’s. Not. An. Excuse.” she grits out._ _

__“Then tell them. Walk into the common room and tell them you’re dating me.”_ _

__She shakes her head. “I’ve told you why I don’t want that.”_ _

__“Or maybe the reason you don’t want to tell anyone is because once my family knows, they’ll never treat you the same, will they? Ronnikins would be so disgusted, and my mum, maybe she wouldn’t see you as the perfect little angel, right?”_ _

__“That’s not true.”_ _

__“So tell them. Go back and tell them you’re in a relationship with me, or keep silent and it all ends. Quaffle’s in your hands. What are you going to do with it?”_ _

__She grabs the rest of her clothes and tugs them on hurriedly while he lights up that blasted joint, seething with anger and hurt. How dare he?_ _

__She fumes the entire way back to the castle, barely sneaking in and making it past Filch. She stomps up to the seventh floor and into the common room and keeps going, straight to her bedroom, so angry, she’s unable to say a word to anyone and a little terrified of what would come out of her mouth._ _

__And so she stays silent, even as her heart aches when he turns away from her in the common room the next morning on her way down to breakfast._ _

__She stays silent, even after that bitch gets Dumbledore sacked and they all have detention._ _

__Things go from bad to worse. When he snogs a sixth year Hufflepuff girl in the courtyard, she turns away._ _

__She’s stopped, however, when a hand shoots out and slaps the wall just in front of her face. She goes to back up to find that she’s trapped on the other side by George’s other arm._ _

__“Granger will know,” he says to Lee, who is standing next to him, frowning. “What’s the name of that first year with the blonde curls?”_ _

__“Er… I don’t know,” she says. “Now, please move out of my way.”_ _

__“You don’t know? Maybe it was the other one, the brunette one, whatshername? The one with the pigtails?”_ _

__She starts to duck under him, hand reaching into her robes for her wand. It’s not there._ _

__Lee casts a muffliato and a Notice-me-Not on them. George’s eyes are glittering dangerously, though he’s still smiling pleasantly._ _

__George holds up her wand, twirling it easily in his fingers. “Looking for this?”_ _

__He clucks his tongue at her. “You should take better care of the things you’ve been entrusted with, Hermione. It would be a shame if they were to break or disappear.”_ _

__He snaps his fingers and her wand is gone. She sucks in a sharp breath. “Give it back.”_ _

__“Why don’t you summon it, then? I mean, after all, it can’t be too difficult, can it? All Freddie and I know is the flashy, useless kind of magic, isn’t that right?”_ _

__She balls her hands into fists._ _

__“Now, what were we about then? The first years? Ah, yes. Name one of them, Granger.”_ _

__“Will you give me my wand back if I do?”_ _

__“Name one and find out.”_ _

__She wrinkles her forehead. “Er, Gemma?”_ _

__“You think she means Gina? Or Emma?” George asks Lee._ _

__Lee shrugs. “Maybe she means Grace? Or Gigi?”_ _

__“Try again.”_ _

__She thinks about it, but for the life of her, she can’t come up with a single name. “There’s the Watkins boy,” she tries._ _

__“It’s Watson and he’s a she,” George says. “See, funny thing: I can name every single one of them. Even the ones that haven’t agreed to testing. We do leave them alone, you know.”_ _

__“Do you know anything about them?” Lee asks._ _

__She shakes her head._ _

__“No, you don’t, do you? Well, here’s a fun fact: Marcus Ryson was the first in his family to be in Gryffindor. Rest of his family for five generations have been Ravenclaw. And Gina McCleod is the first witch born in her family in three generations. She has four older brothers. She and Ginny can bond over that, actually. Oh, and Daniel Morgan is terrified of being eaten by nifflers because of a dream he had when he was little.”_ _

__“And why is this important?”_ _

__George raises an eyebrow and looks over at Lee._ _

__Lee shrugs again. “Your show, mate.”_ _

__George steps back and Hermione starts to move around him._ _

__“Not so fast, Granger. It’s rude to go running off during a friendly chat. I do have another question: Aside from Dobby and Winky, can you name any of the house elves?”_ _

__She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “George, let me go.”_ _

__“Have you asked the house elves what they want out of their life?”_ _

__“Well yes, of course, but they’ve been brainwashed and…” she trails off, fully aware of the look on George’s face. It’s complete and utter contempt._ _

__Without moving a muscle, George is no longer the goofy boy she knows, but something feral and dangerous. She doesn’t think he’d ever hurt her, but there’s a look in his eyes that warns her not to push him too far. She’s reckless, but she’s not stupid._ _

__“Do you think Fred would like you scaring me? Or your mum?” she tries._ _

__“Ah yes, your favorite threat, mum,” George muses. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask her? Course, you’ll have to tell her why we’re having this friendly little chat, wouldn’t you?”_ _

__“And if I figure it out, I will,” Hermione says, her temper flaring a little. Her heart is beating hard in her chest. It’s not a pleasant feeling._ _

__“It really amazes me. So many souls you’ve made it your duty to save from the big, bad wizarding world and yet you’ve never actually bothered to ask any of them if they need or want saving.”_ _

__“Funny, that,” Lee comments. “But why bother asking when you know everything?” He looks over his shoulder, pressing his lips together. He too, looks uncharacteristically angry._ _

__“Right you are, Lee. An all-seeing witch like Granger, she knows better than us lowly masses. She knows what everyone wants or needs better than they know themselves. Except their names, or interests, or thoughts or fears, or anything that really matters.”_ _

__“It’s not vital to know everyone’s names to care about their safety.”_ _

__“Isn’t it, though? How are you going to know what kid is missing if you don’t even know how many there are supposed to be?”_ _

__“After all,” Lee adds, “that is your primary role as a prefect, is it not? To look out for the younger years.”_ _

__“It’s not just taking points and throwing your weight around,” George adds._ _

__“So you know their names and I don’t. Do you think it gives you license to put them in danger?”_ _

__George scoffs. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe instead of endangering them, we’ve been protecting them?”_ _

__“Oh, and how is that supposed to work? While they’re fainting from your bloody fainting fancies --”_ _

__“The fainting fancies aren’t bloody, that’s the nosebleed nougats,” George interrupts._ _

__“ -- fine, while they’re bloody and/or fainting from your products, you’re preventing them from falling off a tower?”_ _

__“Well we certainly aren’t testing them in any towers.”_ _

__Hermione crosses her arms and scowls up at him. “You are wasting my time.”_ _

__“Going to dock points for that, now, too?”_ _

__“No, but I wish you’d get to your point.”_ _

__“Right. My point is, when they’re with us, they’re not just being tested on; they’re learning. Their own limits, in part, but also who they can trust - namely, each other. Though they’re certainly learning not to trust many adults. But that’s Umbridge and Filch teaching them that.”_ _

__“We give them pointers on how to handle certain teachers and older students,” Lee adds._ _

__“And prefects,” George says, stroking a finger over her badge, and smirking. “And we keep them out of the line of the Inquisitorial Squad. You think we’re just pranksters. You think our jokes are disruptive and mean and pointless.”_ _

__“That’s exactly what they are.”_ _

__George sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “And of course, you’d know, wouldn’t you? After all, you must have read it in a book somewhere. Or maybe some adult told it to you, so you must believe it’s true. _Honestly,_ ” his voice gets mocking, taking on her own irritated tones, _if it’s not in Hogwarts: A History, it might as well not exist._ You can’t be bothered with things you can’t read or see, and you don’t care enough to look beyond the surface. For all your intelligence, Hermione, your understanding of people is incredibly shallow.” _ _

__He leans in further and drops his voice. “You don’t know a damned thing about me, and you sure as hell don’t know a thing about Freddie. Because if you did, you’d know that to fuck with one of us is to fuck with both of us, and we don’t take kindly to that.”_ _

__“Are you threatening me?”_ _

__“Not at all. Consider it a lesson. You like those, don’t you?”_ _

__“If it’s a lesson in being an arse, I can’t think of a better teacher,” she snarls._ _

__He pushes back from her and regards her with his arms crossed. “I’m glad he’s shot of you. He deserves better.”_ _

__With that, he stalks away, Lee looking back over his shoulder once at her, a mixture of worry and warning crossing his face. He shakes his head at her minutely. The warning isn’t necessary, really. He waves his wand and the spells are broken and he hurries off after George. The sounds of students talking reach her ears again._ _

__Hermione sucks in a deep breath and makes her way quickly to her dormitory, completely shaken. She finds her wand on her bed when she gets there. She picks it up and places it on her nightstand, then buries her face in her pillow. She doesn’t cry, but her throat feels tight and raw anyway._ _

__She should take points, she should… but George, for all that he’s a prat, may have had a point. A small one. She should know the first year students’ names. She should also read a bit more about house elves history - and maybe talk to a few of them._ _

__Sighing, she sits up and pulls her schoolbag toward her, reaching for her books. In the meantime, she has OWLs to study for._ _

__April 1996, Fifth Year, Hogwarts  
The twins celebrate their eighteenth birthday in Weasley twin style - by pranking the hell out of Dolores Umbridge and perfecting their products for their store. Hermione knows they’ve tested the products on first years; she saw them coming out of a classroom; the one she’d come to think of as theirs - hers and Fred’s. _ _

__Hermione doesn’t even try to scold them. She hasn’t said a word to either of them in weeks, nor they to her. Fred turns away when she walks into the common room or the Great Hall, chatting with George and Lee, or Angelina, Katie and Alicia. Or really, anyone who isn’t her._ _

__Harry watches her with a small frown on his face, but he says nothing and she doesn’t really expect him to. He does offer her chocolate one day, and she takes it with a small smile, tucks her hair behind her ear, and starts talking about the time table she’s created for OWLs._ _

__She is walking out of the girls’ lavatory one evening near the library and hears some kind of heated words._ _

__“I could put a dungbomb under her bed.”_ _

__“Don’t,” another says with exhaustion clear._ _

__She knows Fred and George’s voice, the inflections that aren’t quite the same as Ron’s or Ginny’s, despite them growing up in the same household._ _

__“You wouldn’t be able to get into her dorm, anyway.”_ _

__“Parvati would help me.”_ _

__It hits Hermione, then. They’re talking about her._ _

__“It’s not worth it,” Fred is saying. “And anyway...she is who she is. I knew that from the start. A girl like her, it was never going to last.”_ _

__“If only she got that stick out of her arse.”_ _

__“If only…” Fred says, slightly mocking and more than a little bitter._ _

__“If she can’t see your brilliance, it’s her loss.”_ _

__“So why does it feel like I’m the loser?”_ _

__Hermione sags against the wall. For a moment, she considers revealing herself and apologizing. Maybe she and Fred could try again. But would anything really change?_ _

__“We’d better get back before we get caught.”_ _

__“I must say, Gred, I’ve had all the lines I can stand, tonight.”_ _

__She sneaks off, ducking into an alcove, before they see her._ _

__A few weeks later, they leave in true Weasley twin fashion, and Hermione’s pride wars with her appreciation of their ingenuity. They really do have brilliant minds._ _

__She looks around at the school and how everyone seems to have been inspired by their antics and how they use those pranks and jokes to resist Umbridge. She admits, if only to herself, that maybe Fred and George are onto something._ _

__Hermione does what she always does: she supports Harry, argues with Ron and studies. And if people think she’s crankier than normal, they just chalk it up to OWLs and Umbridge. She doesn’t correct them._ _

__The ache in her heart will pass, she tells herself. Fred is someone she won’t have to see every day; she’ll move on. They’ll move on._ _

__As her mother always says, “This too shall pass.”_ _

__Early July, 1996, San Sebastian  
Her parents love her, and she loves them, but whenever they’re together, it becomes more and more clear that there is this widening gulf between them. The sad truth is that, thanks to boarding school, she’s not really spent all that much time under their roof -- or their rules. She’s never been a troublemaker, so by and large they trust her, preferring to spend what little time they have with her than trying to alienate her more. _ _

__And so they go to France, and then down to Spain. Not Ibiza, though they’ve gone on their own twice since Hermione was off at boarding school, but San Sebastian._ _

__That is where she overhears them talking about trying for a second child. She doesn’t mean to listen in, it’s only that she’s heading for the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower after a day of playing tourist in Old Town. They have an in suite, with a mini kitchen and all. Her parents are in the master bedroom and she has another room, attached. It’s small and cramped, but at least they have some privacy._ _

__Her father asks, “Do you think that one would have special powers, too?”_ _

__Her mother’s answer is that it’s highly unlikely. “I asked Professor McGonagall,” she says. And, “I’m not getting any younger. The older we get, the more difficult a pregnancy would be.”_ _

__There’s a pause, and then a giggle. “I didn’t mean we should start now.”_ _

__“Why not? We’re on vacation, aren’t we?”-_ _

__She turns away, goes back to her room and gathers her bag and a book, deciding to slip out while she has the chance. She’s anxious to have some alone time, but she can do that in the lounge downstairs._ _

__She sits down near the bar, thinking to just get a soda and read the book she’s grabbed, but she’s no sooner sat down before someone else takes the seat next to her. He orders in good Spanish, but it takes her a moment to realize his accent is French._ _

__“Bonsoir,” he says to her, glancing down at the book. Then with a little smile, he asks, “Bon livre, oui?”_ _

__She glances down at the book and blushes when she realizes that the book she has picked up is considered a bit racy. The bartender returns with his drink and a soda for her._ _

__“Oh, er. I haven’t actually started it, yet.”_ _

__“Ah, English.”_ _

__“Désolé, je peux parler français, si vous préférez, bien que mon espagnol soit un problème.”_ _

__He grins, delighted. “Ah, but I can practice my English, and you can correct me when I am wrong.”_ _

__She smiles, blushing. “And will you do the same for me?”_ _

__“Yes, I think I would like that very much.”_ _

__Somehow, he makes that sound both charming and a little bit dirty. She smiles at him._ _

__“And what are you drinking?” he asks, his accent turning the English into something far more beautiful than what she’s used to hearing._ _

__“Soda,” she says, feeling stupid. This man is bloody gorgeous, his grey-green eyes sparking with good humor. His clothes a little more grand than she’s used to, as though he’s just returned from a club or party somewhere, and when he grabs her hand and leans in to kiss it, she blushes. He smells good._ _

__Thank Merlin for small favors; she is still wearing the cotton sundress she’d put on this morning. It’s a simple outfit but it’s versatile, working for a day of sightseeing as well as a nice dinner. Her hair is back in a braid to deal with the heat and the humidity, and it’s actually behaving for once. A few curls have escaped to frame her face, but last she’d checked, at least, the look had been pretty, rather than disheveled._ _

__They talk a bit more and he orders her a glass of wine. The drink is heady, a combination of tart and sweet. She’s had wine before with her parents on vacation and she knows to sip it, savor the flavor on her tongue. It’s a really good glass of wine._ _

__He’s leaned in closer to her, and she’s turned toward him, enjoying their chat. Jean, as he’s introduced himself, loves to read and is well-traveled. Hermione feels young in his presence and a little self-conscious, but his eyes remain warm._ _

__They’re a striking color of grey-green, nothing like Fred’s, and his long brown hair is pulled back in a low ponytail at his neck._ _

__“I think it is time for me to retire,” he says. “Would you like me to escort you to your room? You are staying here, oui?”_ _

__“Oh,” she says. “Yes, we are.”_ _

__“Who is this we? You have a jealous boyfriend I should beware of?”_ _

__She laughs. “Non, just some friends. They’re a couple.”_ _

__“Ah. Well, I will escort you to your door, at least.”_ _

__As the elevator closes, though, he moves in and his hand touches her neck. “You are beautiful, Hermione. May I kiss you?”_ _

__She knows it’s a bad idea, but she’s on vacation and she’s exhausted, emotionally and physically, from the prior school year. She just wants to feel something other than terror or anger or broken-hearted, so she nods._ _

__He starts off soft, but by the time they are in his room, she realizes she’s definitely in over her head. Still, as he pins her wrists to the wall and uses the other to push down the top of her sundress, she’s going to do her very best to impress._ _

__“You are very young,” he notes. “You are legal, oui?”_ _

__“Oui,” she says, biting her lip._ _

__“And you want this?”_ _

__“Oui,” she says. “Si. Yes.”_ _

__He laughs and looks down at the breast he’s caressing. “In France, we have a saying, that if you can fill a wine glass with a woman’s breast, it is the perfect size for the mouth, for the hand. Your breasts, they are perfect.”_ _

__He punctuates this by curling in a bit and taking her breast into his mouth. “Oh,” Hermione moans. “Oh, oh.”_ _

__It seems almost strange to not see red hair, but she shakes that thought and lets her head fall back against the wall, moaning. He works his way down her body and her dress drops in a puddle at her feet._ _

__Her bra and knickers quickly follow. Grasping her hips, he lifts her, causing her to squeak in alarm. Her head nearly hits the ceiling; she braces her hand on it and one in his hair as he starts to lick and suck at her cunt._ _

__“Yes, yes,” she breathes, trying to ignore the constant feeling like she’s going to fall and enjoying the way he feels on her mouth._ _

__He swings her around and she almost topples over. “I have you,” he promises._ _

__He drops her to the bed, following her to straddle her chest. “Suck it.”_ _

__She takes his cock into her mouth, flicking her tongue against the slit. Hermione is not great at this, but she’s had some practice with Fred, so she knows at least enough to wank it with one hand while sucking with the other. He watches her, letting out a low groan when she sucks hard and slides her lips down further._ _

__He grabs her by the hair and pulls her head up. It’s not rough but it still freaks her out when he presses farther into her mouth than she’s comfortable with, wrenching an odd, gurgly protest from her throat._ _

__His eyes are half-lidded. “Yes, you can take it,” he encourages, switching to French to offer her encouragement and praise. And she continues, because she’s a sucker for positive reinforcement._ _

__Fred had picked up on that weakness as well. She hadn’t even known it was a thing for her until he pointed it out._ _

__Jean coaxes her into taking him all the way into her throat; she gags and presses her hand against his thigh and he pulls out a little. She’s got a lot of spit built up in her mouth; she wonders if she should swallow it and just as she starts to, he presses forward and his entire prick is in her throat and mouth. His eyes close as he curses, his hand holding the back of her head._ _

__She starts to panic, but he pulls away again, this time all the way out of her mouth, leaving a string of saliva from her lips to his cock before it breaks over her chest. “I’m going to fuck you now. So good, you will love it,” he promises, grinning. “I very much like your breasts.”_ _

__He moves down, mouthing at them and sucking her nipples. She throws her head back and enjoys it as he moves down between her legs and lines himself up, thrusting in with a drawn out moan. His hair has come out of its ponytail and like that, he looks so very worldly, way out of her league. All of those snooty girls who’d snubbed their nose at Hermione - especially the likes of Pansy Parkinson - can kiss her arse._ _

__He lifts her legs, pressing them together and back so her knees are against her chest. She’s fairly flexible, though it does put pressure on her stomach, but the tightness and the angle leave them both gasping._ _

__And then once again he withdraws, grabbing her hips and turning her over to her hands and knees as he jerks himself a few times, slapping it against her arse. She wonders why men do that and if it’s a universal thing, if something in their lizard brain sends this universal signal._ _

__Jean slides back in, and it feels good, though the view of the headboard isn’t quite as appealing as he was. And then she feels his thumb probing at her bum, and she sucks in a breath._ _

__“Relax,” he tells her. “I will make it very enjoyable.”_ _

__The way he rubs his thumb, just brushing the outside of it, sets off every nerve ending she has, so she tries to follow his instructions._ _

__“You have a delicious derriere,” he informs her. He removes his hand for a moment, then it’s back and it’s slick as he presses one finger in, slowly._ _

__“Breathe,” he orders._ _

__He’s still fucking her, and the dual penetration is truly doing her brain in; it’s both pleasure and pain as she comes, crying out._ _

__He does not cease the movement; if anything, he increases his ministrations. He slides fingers through her wet quim, then pushes two of them into her arse, managing to get all the way to his knuckles, and moving them around, working her open._ _

__It’s uncomfortable but so good at the same time, and it seems to go back and forth with every ragged breath she inhales._ _

__She about to protest when he pulls out of her cunt and she feels the blunt head of his prick against her arse but he starts to push in and she sucks in a breath, instead. It’s not...good, really, but it’s so full and weird and obscene. She wants to cry because she feels dirty and used and she’s not sure if she likes the feeling, or hates it._ _

__She lets her head fall to rest on the sheet between her arms and concentrates on relaxing as much as she can. She bears down a little and that seems to help, as he slides in home on the next small thrust._ _

__“Oh,” she says as his bollocks slap against her nether lips. It burns a little and it’s so uncomfortable, and yet it feels like every nerve in her body is on fire. “Oh, oh, oh.”_ _

__“So beautiful,” he says, just as she’s about to ask him to stop. “Tu es parfaite.”_ _

__He lets out a series of small grunts whenever he thrusts in. He increases the pace steadily, until he’s fucking her arse as thoroughly as he fucked her cunt, cupping her breasts in each hand to drag her back with every thrust. The burning has subsided and while it’s still uncomfortable and tight, she seems to have adjusted._ _

__She can only wonder how she’s going to feel tomorrow when her second orgasm of the evening overtakes her. Then, she stops thinking much at all._ _

__She wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling his hand rubbing between her thighs. She moans, twisting her hips and he presses his cock inside her again, pulling her from her side to lie half on top of him. He presses his mouth to her neck as he fucks her, fondling her breasts, even slapping the one nearest him occasionally. The sharpness of the pain sends her over the edge once more._ _

__***  
Her parents had been oblivious to her absence. They’d already been awake and puttering about, getting ready for the day when she’d returned in the morning. Her mother was usually unobservant before her morning tea, so it’s no surprise that she’s busy fiddling with the coffee pot. Her father doesn’t notice either her limp or that she’s wearing the same clothes she’d worn the night before and she reeks of sex. _ _

__She heads into the bathroom before they register she’s even here._ _

__“Did you go out this morning?” her mum asks later, as they’re walking out._ _

__“I woke up early, honestly, I’m so used to Hogwarts time,” she says. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I took a walk.”_ _

__“Did you find anything interesting?”_ _

__“I was hoping to find magical San Sebastian,” Hermione says. “Supposedly, they have these tempus quills and potions that were banned by the pope in the middle ages, before the statute of secrecy. I read about them in a book, but I couldn’t find the entrance. It’s supposed to reveal itself only through the right combination of words. I don’t think I’ll be able to find it, though, since I can’t do magic during vacations.”_ _

__She winces again as she steps, and her mum raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay? You don’t have blisters on your feet, do you?”_ _

__“No, I just took a bit of a tumble earlier,” Hermione lies. “Landed hard on my hip. It’s just a bruise; nothing to worry about.”_ _

__It’s as they are passing a cafe that she sees Jean sitting in the window, talking to another man. He notices her and raises an eyebrow, then winks._ _

__She blushes, ducking her head to hide her smile from her parents, but she’s too late. Her mother notices, and follows her gaze to the man in the window._ _

__“Oh, so you’ve started noticing boys,” she teases._ _

__“I’d say that’s more than a boy,” Hermione’s father grumbles. “That man is way too old.”_ _

__“Yes, he’s positively ancient,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I’ve noticed boys for a while now. I just tend to find most of them terribly boring.”_ _

__“What about that Viktor fellow from last year? Whatever happened to him?”_ _

__“He’s still playing quidditch in Bulgaria,” Hermione says impatiently, striding away._ _

__Her father is still grumbling about ages, while her mother teases that Hermione likes her men to be a bit more mature._ _

__She thinks about Fred and scowls. “Oh, look, there’s the Cathedral. Let’s go take a look.”_ _

__August, 1996, Diagon Alley  
Hermione knew that sooner or later, she’d have to face the twins again. Honestly, she’d figured she’d run into them a bit more at the Burrow, but they’ve been busy with their shop. That’s part of the excuse, of course - part of it is also that they’re avoiding the whole Phlegm situation with their mother. _ _

__Stepping inside the store, it’s everything she should have expected from the twins - and more._ _

__She’s torn between amusement and concern about the love potions. On one hand, it’s brilliant magic. On the other, well, it’s a potion to create an artificial sense of love._ _

__She and Fred had talked about them once. Fred asked, “Does it ultimately matter if it’s real or artificial? The experience is the same.”_ _

__While she still believes her reply, which was that, “But it’s taking the choice away.”_ _

__“But there are plenty of people who are in love who don’t have sex. And plenty who have sex who aren’t in love. The choice to have sex isn’t removed.”_ _

__“No, but it’s strongly influenced.”_ _

__“But there has to be a spark of something for it to really work. It’s like when someone has a few drinks for courage. It removes inhibitions - granted, some that are probably in place for good reason - but if the person has no desire to fuck a girl, for example, even a love potion won’t force him to change his mind.”_ _

__She stares at the love potions now, trying to keep her head down, but it doesn’t work._ _

__“What happened to your eye, Hermione?” Fred asks._ _

__“Oh. Your boxing telescope.”_ _

__Ron and Ginny had wondered aloud why she wasn’t angry about it. Hermione, however, considers it cosmic justice._ _

__“Oh, blimey, I’d forgotten about that,” Fred says, biting his lip._ _

__He rummages around behind the counter and comes up with a jar of thick yellow paste. “There’s a reason we don’t sell them. Never did get around to making them work right. Here, put this on your eye. We’ve developed it since we test all our products on ourselves.”_ _

__She remembers the boils on his arse all too well. “It is safe, isn’t it?”_ _

__“Of course.” He levels her with a look before moving away, and she dabs it on. Immediately, it begins to feel better._ _

__She comments on the brilliance of their magic when she finds the patented daydream and George overhears. “Just for that, you can have one on the house.”_ _

__She looks at him and he winks. She doesn’t know if that means he’s forgiven her, or if he’s putting on a very good show, but then she catches the way Fred smiles, the smallest uptick of his mouth on one side, and realizes that it’s for Fred’s sake more than hers._ _

__The thought makes her heart speed up a little, but then she sees Fred greet some girl with a quick kiss on the cheek and she has to turn away. He’s moved on. She needs to, too._ _

__


	2. What Comes After

#### August, 1998, Grimmauld Place

“Well, that was...interesting,” Fred says from behind her. She looks back to find him leaning in the doorway, one leg crossed over the other, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Emotions are a bit high right now,” she agrees. 

She’s sitting on the steps, looking over the derelict back garden. Neville has plans for it as well, his enthusiasm for Harry’s “It’s yours to do what you wish,” endearing - and a little bit sexy when he’s out there working shirtless. Most of his plans will start next spring, but she can already see some of it transforming. 

“That’s a bit of an understatement.” Fred comes and sits down next to her. She rubs her neck and he reaches over, pushing her hand away gently, and takes over for her. 

“It always feels so much better when you do it,” she says. 

The hand stills, then resumes, but she can feel it vibrating with his laughter. 

She smiles in response. 

She’s happy that Sirius is alive again, as well as the Prewett twins. Harry is thrilled, though she sees some sadness in his eyes, and Sirius’ as well - both of them can’t help but wonder if what brought him back couldn’t have brought others back as well. 

She’s less happy that Sirius so casually revealed a secret that wasn’t his to tell, and a little irritated at herself as well, because she knows that a lot of this anger and heartbreak could have been prevented had she behaved better. 

“It’s a bit poetic, isn’t it? Keeping our relationship a secret broke us up, and the revelation of that relationship destroyed Ron and I.” 

Fred huffs a laugh. “We were teenagers, Hermione. If it wasn’t that, it would have been something else. And Ron will come around. You know how he is; he’ll forgive you eventually.” 

“I’d like him to forgive me,” she says lowly. “I want things to go back to the way they were.” 

Fred drops his hand into his lap. 

“He will,” he says, voice ringing a little hollow. “You two crazy kids will get back together, and you’ll get married and have a bunch of curly ginger babies.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t want to get back together with him. I was…” She drops her voice. “I was looking for a good time to break up with him, anyway.” 

Fred breathes out through his nose. “Why?” 

“I’m not -- we have all this history together, Ron, Harry and I. And so much of it is hurtful and I’m realizing that while I love him dearly as a friend, all that history between us has smothered any chance that a relationship could feel natural.” 

She doesn’t say that she can’t help but compare him to the man sitting next to her, that Fred was always a better lover. Ron is considerate and sweet in bed; his clumsiness cute and his enthusiasm for the act endearing, but they just don’t...fit.

“Well...I think it will be longer for him to be able to go back to being friends than it would back to a relationship,” Fred observes. 

“I know. Good thing I’ll be going back to Hogwarts. It will give him time to mend without me here in his face.” 

“I’m almost tempted to go with you, if just to avoid my mum,” Fred says with a grimace. “Then again, you’ll have Ginny to deal with.” 

Hermione frowns. “I get why she’s upset to some degree, but she’s taking it rather personally.” 

Fred shrugs. “I think she finally felt like things had balanced out. Like she’s a part of things. She with Harry, you with Ron…one big happy family.” 

“Yes, well, sorry to disappoint her. And your mum,” Hermione adds, wincing. 

Molly had stewed in the kitchen for approximately twenty minutes before barging in and telling Hermione exactly what she thought of her. At first, they’d all been struck mute by the word Molly had used, one even Ron had blanched at. 

That had Fred flushed and angry on Hermione’s behalf and even Harry had stood up for her, which caused a fight to break out between he and Ginny. The whole thing got ugly, right up until George had set off his wand and ordered his father to take his mother and Ginny home. 

Molly… Molly is all over the place right now. Molly is irate because her little hero can do no wrong while Fred can do no right. She’s happy to see her brothers again. She’s devastated that Percy is still gone. 

Hell, even George had suffered Molly’s anger since he knew about Fred and Hermione and didn’t -- 

“What, try to stop them? Why would I?” he’d asked her incredulously. 

“It was wrong,” Molly insisted. “She was too young.” 

“I was sixteen,” Hermione said. “And Fred was seventeen. A year’s difference.” 

“You were underage!” 

Bill cleared his throat and said, “I knew about them, too. Or at least suspected.” 

Molly and Ginny had looked absolutely betrayed. 

Ginny just turned seventeen a week ago, yet Molly doesn’t seem to care that she’d spent plenty of nights in Harry’s bed this summer. It stings to know that Molly thinks so little of her. 

“Why did Sirius bring it up?”Hermione asks. “Or keep pushing it when it was obvious he shouldn’t?” 

“Because when you walked in, only one Weasley noticed,” Sirius says from behind them. He leans against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because only one of them got you a chair. It wasn’t Ron.” 

He smiles down at her. Hermione rolls her eyes and huffs out a sigh, but she ends up smiling back. For all his faults, it’s good to have Sirius standing there again. “I still want to wring your neck.”

He grins. “You’re not the first woman to tell me that.” 

“Won’t be the last, either.” 

“I should hope not. Don’t want to lose my touch.” 

He pats her on the shoulder. Without further warning, he transforms into Padfoot and goes dashing into the house, barking madly. 

“Padfoo--ooof,” she hears Harry say through his laughter. “Bad dog! Argh, stop licking my face! Get off, you mangy mutt!” 

Someone else says something, and then there’s raucous laughter. 

“Well, there’s going to be no end of trouble with the three of them back,” Fred says. He grins toothily at her. “It’s going to be 

fun

.”

She snorts. “For you, maybe. The rest of the world... Merlin help us.” 

***

It’s yet another sleepless night. Harry and Dean are both clutching mugs of tea laced with whiskey while Hermione sticks to tea. Harry should be asleep; he looks shagged out, but there’s something troubling him; he keeps chewing at his lower lip and glancing at Dean. Hermione would be surprised if it wasn’t about Ginny given the spectacular row they’d had, the third in as many days. 

Ginny is still angry at Hermione and just as upset that Harry hadn’t told her, but that doesn’t stop her from coming over and shagging him the next day. 

“Angry sex is a thing, apparently,” Neville says as they watch Ginny push Harry through the door roughly. “Hannah went spare when I broke her mum’s vase last week. Best sex we’ve ever had.”

“Yes, but that was makeup sex,” Hermione points out. Neville didn’t answer, too lost in the memory, if the flush in his cheeks was anything to go by. 

He wanders off, humming, and she isn’t surprised when he leaves to go see Hannah not long after. 

Unlike Hannah, Ginny still hasn’t forgiven Harry. Hermione hadn’t heard much in the way of words, the shouting had come through the walls of Harry’s bedroom and she’d stormed out not too long ago, pushing past Hermione roughly. Harry had followed, his eyes wide and a little hurt. 

Dean had been in the drawing room. He flinched when Ginny stormed past, grabbing the floo powder so angrily that she’d knocked the dish to the floor. She didn’t bother to clean it up. 

Dean did, glancing at Harry. 

“Did you have something to do with that?” Harry asked Dean. 

Dean blinked. “What, Ginny? No idea what happened there, mate.” 

Harry had studied him for a moment, but Dean was genuinely confused. Harry nodded and headed back to his room, slamming the door. 

“You know what that was about?” Dean asked Hermione. 

She shook her head and Dean shrugged, then headed back to his room. 

Now, Dean puts down his cup and looks at Harry. “Okay, just ask.” 

Harry winces. “Ginny…” he glances at Hermione and flushes. 

Hermione starts to stand up, but Harry reaches out a hand, stopping her. “I could use a girl’s perspective on this one.” 

So Hermione sits down again. 

“Ginny asked me if I’d be willing to have a threesome,” he says finally. “Said… said she’d love to have two of us at once.” 

Dean looks wary and Harry glances at him from under his fringe. “She mentioned you specifically.” 

“Ah.” 

“I take it you said no?” Hermione asks gently. 

“Didn’t get much of a chance to say yes or no,” Harry says. “I asked her why she wanted it. Asked her why I wasn’t enough.” 

“I’m sure that’s not what she meant, Harry.” 

“No, it is,” Harry says simply. “It’s not--I do my best, but I can’t satisfy her.” He looks down at the table. “I know it’s harder for girls sometimes, to...to get off, but she does. Loads, in fact. But…”

“She’s never satisfied,” Dean says, nodding. He swallows hard. “It was like that with me, too.” 

Harry blinks. “I’ve always been a bit jealous of you, that you were her first.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t, though.” 

He realizes what he said, and winces. “Er… I mean, that’s sort of between you and her, but I’m pretty sure Michael got there before me.” 

“Oh.” 

Hermione would almost laugh at the way both of them take big gulps of their tea at the same time, but then they look at each other and kind of smirk in commiseration. 

“So, you didn’t put her up to asking, then?” Harry asks Dean directly. 

Dean shakes his head. “No, mate, I wouldn’t. I mean, I really liked her when we were together, and it sucked when she broke up with me, but no. And, no offense, but I’m not into sharing.” 

Harry laughs. “Well. Me neither.” 

“We’ll leave that to Nev and Shay.” 

Hermione clears her throat. “So have you talked to her about what you can do? Does she tell you what she likes?” 

“She’s not exactly shy about it,” Harry says, and Dean nods in agreement. 

“So, then, what happened? What did you say?” 

“I asked her if she really wanted that, or if maybe we could try something else,” Harry says. “She didn’t like that much. Kind of had her mind set on having someone else.”

There’s silence for a few moments. 

“Why am I not enough for her?” 

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione says, reaching out to pat his hand. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just be patient with her. Maybe...try some toys?” 

Harry huffs a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll talk to her about that.” He gulps the rest of his tea and gets up, setting the mug in the sink. “Goodnight,” he says, slinking off. 

Dean and Hermione’s eyes meet for a moment, and then slide away. “Goodnight,” Dean says a few moments later, hurrying off to his own bed as well. 

“Boys,” she mutters. 

***

“I’m bored,” Sirius says, his head leaning back on his chair, firewhiskey dangling from his fingers.

They’re the only ones in the house. Everyone else seems to have plans for one of their last weekends before school starts up. 

“Where are Gideon and Fabian?” Hermione asks. 

Sirius shrugs. “Minerva has given them the run of the Hogwarts library restricted section. They’re looking up possible reasons why we’ve been revivified.” 

“It really is a mystery,” Hermione says. “I’ve done some research myself. I don’t think it could have been a potion - or if it was, it would have to be someone related to both of you and with access to your belongings. And I’m sure the three of you didn’t have horcruxes.” 

“Well I can’t speak for the twins, but I can safely say that I certainly did not take that step,” Sirius says with a sardonic twist of his lips. 

“What do you think could have done it?” 

He shrugs. “Honestly? I don’t really care. I know Fabs and Gids have put their noses to it, but I don’t really feel the need to gen up. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.” 

Hermione does not really understand that attitude, but she doesn’t pursue it. 

“Where are the lads, then?” 

“Neville and Hannah are at her new flat. I believe they wanted some privacy,” Hermione says primly, making Sirius laugh. He’s already experienced their disregard for privacy and ordered them to take their debauchery elsewhere.

“Dean and Shay have gone to the new club that’s opened.” 

They didn’t invite Hermione, but that doesn’t bother her much. 

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “You mean Upscale? Heard you have to get an invite to it for any real chance to get in.”

This is true, from what Hermione has heard. The club is at the end of Diagon Alley in a cul-de-sac, separated from the other buildings nearby by two parks, both obscured by trees. There is an elaborate entrance at the front, but she’s heard whispers - mostly from Padma, who heard it from Su, who heard it from someone else - that the real entrance for those who’ve received an invite, is around the back and that if you try to fake the invitation or show up without one, you can’t get in the door. 

“I think Fred and George wrangled them an invitation. Also, you’ve been revivified for five days and you already know about the newest club?” 

“I’ve been a free man for five days,” he says. “I plan to make the most of that.” 

She doesn’t call him out on the lie. Sirius hasn’t left the house in three of those five days. The first two, he’d gone to Diagon Alley but quickly apparated out when he couldn’t stand the prying eyes and nosey questions from complete strangers. He’d also gone to see his healer to confirm that he was, indeed, fully living and fully functional (“I tested out the works last night,” he tells Hermione with a wink), and to Gringotts with Fleur, who was attempting to straighten out all the red tape of him suddenly being alive again. 

“His is easy,” Fleur had said. “Eet is ze twins zat will be difficult, as zey have been dead for a long time.” 

Still, Sirius had always hated this house, and despite all its changes, she can’t imagine he wants to be holed up in it, not when he doesn’t have to be. 

Hermione yawns. It’s only eight o’clock, but she’s tired. If she thought she’d get rest, she’d go to bed early, but nightmares have plagued her for the past several days. 

“You know what we need?” Sirius asks. 

She doesn’t look up from her book. “I’m sure you’ll enlighten me,” she drawls. 

He chuckles. “We need to get out of this place. Get a change in scenery. Hey, we should see a movie.” 

She shifts. The thought has some appeal. “What would we see?” 

“Let’s go find out!” 

He stands up and grabs her by the hand. “Come on, no time to waste, the night is young.” 

She shakes her head, but checks her pockets for basics - muggle ID and money, her wand - and with a crack, Sirius side-along apparates her away. 

“You could warn a girl,” she says, checking to make sure she’s intact. 

Where they’ve landed is an alley; she can hear the sounds of people talking and traffic moving out in the street, so they make their way out there. Sirius should look out of place with his long hair and green velvet jacket (totally inappropriate for August), but he blends in with the crowd as the exit the alley and merge with the others milling about. 

She’d peg them for being in London, but she’s not entirely sure what part of it, so she asks. 

“Camden town,” he says, and leads the way.

The people here are dressed oddly but not wizard-odd, more like black leather with spikes and theatrical makeup and multi-colored hair. Tonks would have felt at home in that respect, at least. These strange muggles stare at her as she follows Sirius and she realizes that her pink hoodie and ponytail are making her stand out like a sore thumb. 

She waits until no one is looking and then subtly transfigures the hoodie to black. 

The shops look really interesting, actually, especially the vintage stores. Hermione wants to pop in at some point when they have some time, but Sirius has grabbed her wrist and is tugging her along, talking a mile a minute. 

“I miss the punks of the 70s,” Sirius muses and then their clothing makes more sense as she puts the two things together. 

“I’ve read about some of the punk rock movement,” she offers, hurrying to keep up with him. 

He snorts. “Punk isn’t something you can understand just from a book, Hermione. Come on.” 

They find a movie theater, but nothing looks appealing. Then Sirius brightens. “They’re doing Rocky Horror at midnight.” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “That’s hours away.” 

“Let’s go get a drink,” Sirius says. 

She’s not sure why, but she trails along behind him until he finds a pub and steps inside. It’s loud and crowded, and the people are all dressed in punk clothes. Hermione almost gets stabbed in the eye by a spike on a leather jacket. She feels distinctly out of place. Even Sirius stands out here, though he pushes through with confidence to the bar and orders them drinks. 

He’s surprisingly at ease with muggle money and the music, tapping his pound coins on the bar. “Not quite the Clash,” he muses. “But catchy.” 

Hermione does find herself bopping along with the music. It’s weirdly bouncy, but it’s also fast and angry, and there’s a political element to it. She wanders over to the jukebox and flips through it, but there isn’t much of a clue to who it is. 

“Who is this playing?” she asks someone nearby, refusing to be cowed by the strange spiky hair and curled lip. She’s a witch, damn it. 

The guy looks over her, but smirks. “Op Ivy.” 

She looks for Op Ivy and almost misses it at first, because it’s Operation Ivy. 

Sirius hands her a drink and she takes it, sipping almost absent-mindedly at the beer. It’s refreshing, if not the best tasting beverage. After a year on the run, though, she’s used to drinking just about anything. 

She and Sirius browse through the jukebox, then Sirius nudges her aside a bit and starts making selections, so she leans back and watches the people in the pub. There are several pool tables and there’s a space in the corner - she wouldn’t call it a stage, exactly, it’s too small, but there’s clearly a band setting up to play. 

“Now you want some real punk music,” Sirius says, and hits buttons with a sense of satisfaction. “I used to have several of these albums. Don’t know what happened to them after I went to prison.” 

Several heads pop up and stare at him then. Sirius pretends to be oblivious, but she knows by the set of his shoulders that he’s fully aware of the attention. She’s also observed enough of his tells to know that he’d said it loud on purpose. He’s looking for something, and by the glint in his eye, she thinks it might be a fight. 

For that matter, she can feel herself being evaluated as well. Hermione may be a relatively small woman, but when some girl pushes past roughly, Hermione stands her ground and shoves her back, staring her down. 

She’s not even sure where the attitude is coming from, but the girl, despite being taller and clearly older, backs down. “Sorry luv, didn’t see you down there.” 

Hermione raises an eyebrow before stepping to the side, gesturing the girl to walk past. She is momentarily tempted to trip the girl but chooses not to, raising her eyes to meet Sirius’ with a faint smirk. 

Sirius is watching this with some clear amusement but he quickly gets sucked into a conversation with a few people around him about the latest music. A new song comes on and Sirius grins. “Now this is what I remember before I served at her Majesty’s leisure.” 

Hermione listens to the lyrics and can understand why Sirius would relate to it. The song is catchy in its own way, and it expresses the kind of trapped, wounded animal feeling Sirius clearly feels at times. 

He looks wistful. “That was two decades ago, now. How odd. When I was inside, time went so slowly, and yet. Twenty years, and I remember it almost like it was yesterday.” 

He smiles sadly at her. “Bet you wouldn’t believe that Remus was the hardcore one of us back then. The kind professor, losing his mind in a mosh pit. If only you could have seen it.” 

Hermione smiles. “Weirdly, I can see that.” 

“Oh, they have this song on the jukebox?” Sirius exclaims. He puts some more coins in the machine and hits the buttons. “Back in the day, this song caused a bit of a controversy in the UK. Too Drunk to Fuck.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from Hermione. “There’s really a song called that?” 

“Oh, the Dead Kennedys were right off the trolley,” one of Sirius’ new friends says. “Though old Jello himself is a bit of a tosser.” 

“Well, he did write a song called “Too Drunk to Fuck,” Hermione agrees. 

Her curiosity is piqued by what she’s heard and their conversations. She doesn’t think the scene is for her, but there is something appealing about it all. It’s a whole new culture to learn about and she does have some time on her hands before she goes back to Hogwarts. She’s already done all her summer make up work and read through the textbooks.

It could also be the alcohol talking; by the time they leave, she’s quite tipsy. But she’s genuinely curious about what drives these people and she wants to learn more. 

Then they go see Rocky Horror Picture Show, and she almost forgets about the whole punk scene. “You know who would love this?” she asks as they walk out. 

“The twins,” Sirius says. “Both sets, actually.” 

Hermione grins, and grabs his arm, leaning her head against his arm. “This was all rather fun, thanks for taking me, Sirius.” She yawns. “I’m going to have to do some research.” 

He chuckles and pats her head. “Well, if I can find any of my old albums, I’ll gladly lend them to your cause.” 

Harry is awake and in the drawing room when they get back, Teddy asleep with his head on Harry’s shoulder, his black, messy hair matching Harry’s untidy mop. He eyes them with suspicion, especially with how Hermione is still leaning on Sirius, tucked now under his arm. “Where’d the two of you go off to?” 

“Camden town,” Hermione says, yawning again. “Rocky Horror Picture Show. It’s a blast.” 

She waves goodnight and heads up to prepare for bed, humming the time warp song to herself as she goes. 

***

Grimmauld Place is teeming with tension. Several of the Weasleys are there, though unfortunately, the twins aren’t among them. And that’s something right there, that the twins have supplanted Ron and Ginny as her favorite Weasleys. 

Ron is avoiding her, which is remarkably mature of him - it’s more like him to sulk or yell or throw insults at her all evening - but Ginny makes up for it with her own brand of barbed comments. 

It’s also the first time Ginny has been there since she stormed out after Harry turned down her proposal for a threesome; she’s been avoiding Harry as much as Ron has been avoiding Hermione. 

When Harry tries to corner her and talk to her, she dodges neatly, not meeting his eyes. 

The tension isn’t solely about Hermione, which is both perplexing and a bit of a relief. Molly, despite clearly loving her brothers, is not as thrilled to have them back among the living as Hermione would have expected. Sure, some of it can be chalked up to shock, some of it that she’s still mourning Percy. 

“She can’t quite grasp why they’ve come back and Percy hasn’t,” Arthur says, his voice still cracking slightly on Percy’s name. Hermione pats his arm sort of awkwardly. 

He’s doing better than Molly, at least on the surface, but he works quite a lot more than he strictly needs to from what Hermione’s heard. But Kingsley isn’t going to turn down any help he can get when it comes to rebuilding the Ministry. Rooting out the corruption and rebuilding is going to take quite a bit more work. 

Despite his words, though, Arthur seems as perplexed by the distance Molly puts between herself and her brothers. 

“She just needs time. The last couple of years, you know.” 

And Hermione does know, all too well. 

They are all affected by the war. It’s not just Percy’s death, or Colin’s, or Tonks and Remus or Lavender, or any of the other people they lost. It’s the years of being afraid, of constant vigilance. She understands Moody to a rather alarming degree, these days. 

But the thing is, Hermione can’t take it anymore. She needs to be able to relax and let down her guard, but she’s not going to be able to do that when she’s busy waiting for Molly’s next impression of a Howler or Ginny’s barbs. So she grabs her handbag and pops her head into Sirius’ open door to tell him that she’s going out for a drink. He tosses the book he clearly wasn’t reading aside and stands up quickly. 

“I’m going with you.” 

Harry gives them a longing look, but he’s sitting by the fireplace and Ron is talking to him, laughing about something and Dean and Seamus are also nearby, so he’s fine. The Prewett twins are chatting with Charlie and Bill in the corner while Fleur is sitting with Ginny in the kitchen. Fleur waves when they walk past; Ginny doesn’t.She and Sirius end up back in Camden. The shops are open and Hermione takes some time to explore. Sirius doesn’t seem to mind a bit, given his occasional comments comparing what they see to what he remembers. Sirius continues to surprise her with his observations; he’s still mischievous and reckless, walking into traffic without regard for the way the cars slam on their brakes and exchanging colourful insults with the drivers almost cheerfully, but he’s also observant and rather witty. He makes her laugh quite a bit more than she’d have ever expected. 

She buys a great little vintage skirt in one store, and then a blouse and a pair of gently used Doc Martens in another store. They are a bit of a splurge, but they’re oxblood red and they make her feel kind of bold and dangerous. It’s a silly thought, that a pair of boots could do that, but she feels like her feet, at least, are protected from just about anything. 

She buys striped tights, grinning to herself about the Wizard of Oz, and another skirt in the rather eye-searing red and blue plaid of Clan Hamilton. It is rather shorter than she’s used to, showing off her legs and weirdly add to that feeling of bold and dangerous. 

Sirius raises an eyebrow when he sees what she’s buying, but he says nothing. She returns the favor when she spies his purchases. One thing hasn’t changed since he’s gained his life and his freedom, and that’s his penchant for velvet jackets in jewel tones.The used bookshop is amazing, and even more so, the deep and intellectual way Sirius talks about books. If it’s possible, Sirius loves books as much as Hermione and he’s incredibly well-read in muggle literature. What’s more, he has thoughts and opinions about the things he’s read. 

“I think you’ve read far more mu- literature than I have,” she says. 

“What, you thought I was nothing but a prankster?” He’s clearly amused. 

“It’s not like I’ve seen you with a lot of books,” Hermione points out. “More than once, you’ve threatened to burn the library down.” 

“You do remember the types of books I was stuck with when I was trapped in that house,” he says. “Of course I was bored and disgusted with it.” 

“Fair point.” 

They spend far more time out than they expect, so that it’s dark out by the time they step out with their purchases. When Hermione is sure no one will notice, both their bulging sacks go into her beaded bag. 

“I’d offer to carry that if it wouldn’t attract more attention,” he says. “Even around here, a man looks odd carrying a lady’s purse.’ 

She laughs. “It’s not heavy; I put a lightweight charm on it.”

‘I’m hungry, but I want to go to one more shop,” Sirius says. “Are you up for the music store?” 

She is, so off they head, and that’s how Hermione finds Riot Grrrl music.

***

“You and Sirius have become really close,” Harry observes. He’s lying sideways on her bed while she packs. She throws a ball of socks onto the bed. They don’t dare come out of the ball she’s rolled them in; such is her mood.

It’s not that she’s angry; she’s not. She’s terrified. 

“I know we haven’t spent as much time together lately,” Harry begins. 

Hermione pauses to laugh at him gently. “We’ve seen each other literally every day, for hours at a time. I think we can handle a bit of time away from each other.” 

He grins. “And yet you’re as terrified as I am, aren’t you?”

She tosses a jumper in the air; it rolls itself neatly into a ball and inserts itself in her trunk. “We’ve gotten way to codependent.” 

“True. But I’m still going to miss you.” 

“You’ll see me plenty,” she says. 

“I’ll come visit at least once a month. Especially for the quidditch matches.” 

“And unlike Ginny and Luna, I can leave the castle every weekend.” 

That’s another concession headmistress McGonagall has given them; they have more freedom to move about, so long as they sign themselves out and provide a floo address. 

“I just worry that you’ve spent a lot of time cooped up alone since you and Ron broke up,” he says quietly. 

“I haven’t, I’ve spent quite a bit of it with Sirius,” she points out, bringing him back around to his original comment.

His eyes widen earnestly. “Exactly. You and he aren’t -- I mean, I would be happy if you both were happy, but he is my godfather and well, he’s kind of old.” 

Hermione snickers, which turns into outright laughter as Harry bumbles through that sentence. “We are not in any way what you’re thinking. I’m pretty sure we’re the only people in the house not having a bit of slap and tickle.” 

Harry chokes, his eyes widen. “Did you really just say ‘slap and tickle?’ I’m begging you, please don’t ever say that again.” 

“What, it’s okay for you to get your end away every night, but I’m not supposed to talk about it?” 

He wheezes, waving his hand. “Stop,” he begs, and she grins evilly. 

“I mean, I realize everyone in this house is on the pull, trying to get a bit of rumpy-pumpy, but I’m not gagging for a shag so much that I’d bend over for anyone to bugger.” 

“Well, that’s exceedingly good to hear,” Sirius says mildly from the doorway, his eyes twinkling. “Though I’m sure you’d have no shortage of men lining up if it were on offer.” 

She grins at him, ignoring the way Harry is choking and wheezing. “Why thank you, Sirius.”

“We still on for a quick run to the record shop? I want to see if that record is in, yet.” 

She looks at Harry. “Want to come?” 

He is still purple in the face, the occasional chuckle escaping. “Fred and George are supposed to come over later. Rumpy-pumpy, Merlin.”

“Hmm, the twins are a bit of fun, but I don’t think Ginny would appreciate you shagging her brothers, Harry.” 

Harry chokes again, flapping a hand at Sirius while Hermione laughs. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sirius tells Harry, winking. 

“Which should leave you all kinds of trouble to get into,” Hermione says, and grabs her bag. “I’m ready whenever you are.” 

She calls out over her shoulder, “And if you dare try any pranks on me while I’m gone, I’ll hex your meat and two veg off, and you’ll be getting naught but pity for the rest of your life!” 

Harry’s cackles follow them out the door. 

September 1998, Hogwarts

Hermione doesn’t think she’s changed all that much, but she got some startled looks on the train, at least from those who haven’t been around for the past month. Perhaps it’s the haircut, which she got on a whim yesterday, or maybe it’s the boots, or perhaps that her robes don’t have a prefect or head girl badge. She thinks that’s the most likely explanation, though the shortness of her skirt before she puts on her robes gets some raised eyebrows and a few catcalls.

She’d been asked by headmistress McGonagall, but Hermione declined. “I don’t give a toss about enforcing useless and outdated rules on others,” she says. “I just to want to learn.” 

Professor McGonagall had given her something of a grin. “Well, lord knows we’ll all have enough issues on our hands anyway.” 

“Luna should be head girl,” Hermione suggests. “Or one of the other Seventh years; it’s their time to shine.” 

Where the prefect badge would have been, there’s now a pin that says, “Girls to the Front,” and another one, lower down that says, “Fight Like a Girl.” 

She’d really liked that one. 

Riot Grrl is already on the decline but that doesn’t really matter to Hermione. The music is all there, but even more so is the literature. It’s revolutionary, radical stuff, these ‘zines and the way these fierce girls stand their ground. Plus, it has led her (and Sirius) to all kinds of new music, even if that music isn’t always that new to muggles. 

It’s not just her looks that seem to be turning heads. When Hermione takes a walk toward Hogsmeade one evening, she comes back to find Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott outside the gates, smoking a joint. 

Blaise had smirked. “We’re not on Hogwarts property, prefect. Gonna tell on us?” 

She steps up to him, grabs the joint and takes a deep hit from it, smirking at him. Finally, when her lungs start to protest, she lets it out with a casual, “I’m not a prefect,” and strolls right on past, handing it back to him as she goes. “Nev’s stash is better,” she calls over her shoulder. 

She’s had a shit day, but that action makes her feel a bit better. It’s not her first time taking a hit from a joint; she’d gotten stoned with Sirius and some of the cast of Rocky Horror one night after the show, mostly because Sirius didn’t expect her to. He kept pushing to find her limits; only, he doesn’t seemed surprised when she surpasses them. It’s more like he’s confirming something to himself. 

Apparently, though, the “new” Hermione is taking some getting used to for others. The thing is, she’s still fundamentally the same girl. She’d thrown herself into the world of magic when she was eleven and learned everything she could about it - and still continues to do so. She’d done the same thing when researching the Philosopher’s Stone and the basilisk and the horcruxes, so why is it such a shock that she’d give this the same degree of attention?

“I think it’s the rebellion that’s getting people’s knickers bunched,” Seamus says cheerfully when she expresses this. “You used to enforce the rules, now you’re breaking them.” 

Dean snorts. “Except she really didn’t,” he points out when Seamus gives him a look. “Hermione broke every rule Harry and Ron did, and apparently, quite a few more.”

“I still can’t believe you were shagging Fred most of fifth year,” Seamus says, a bit loud. 

Hermione just rolls her eyes when one of the nearby Slytherins chokes. Daphne Greengrass looks at her, wide-eyed, then immediately scurries away, leaning in to whisper to Bulstrode. 

“Thanks, Shay,” she says dryly. 

He grins at her, unrepentant. 

She gets a definite LOOK when she and several of her friends are stopped in the hall by several of the final year Slytherins (minus Malfoy). That look directed her way is from Blaise, and she has to stop herself from rolling her eyes too hard. 

“Alright, so we’ve decided to have a clearing of the air,” Daphne says. She grabs Hermione by the wrist; Hermione pulls back and goes for her wand. 

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Clearing. Of. The. Air. No hexes, nothing but a bit of getting rid of old anger, letting bygones be bygones, et cetera, over some lovely drinks in our common room. All of you, all of us. Come on, now.” 

“Er…” Neville says. 

“I’ll share my stash,” Blaise offers. “It’s really good stuff.”

“It was pretty good,” Hermione says, crossing her arms. “But Nev’s is better.” 

“So you’ve said, Granger. I’m willing to put that to the test if he is.” 

Seamus and Neville look at each other. “We’re in.” 

“I’m not. I have other things that need doing.” 

“You can study some other time,” Blaise says firmly. “Come on, Granger. We’ve won the battle and it’s time to celebrate. Don’t be a spoilsport.” 

She plants her hands on her hips and glares. “Oh, you want to celebrate, huh? 

We’ve

won the battle, you say? Really? Because I don’t recall you lifting a bloody finger in that battle, and if you did, it was on Voldemort’s side.”

“We didn’t support him,” Daphne says. “Blaise and Theo and Tracey and Millie and I; all of us here - we didn’t support him.” 

“That’s right, you stood by while we did the dirty work,” Hermione snarls. “You did fuck all. You and your pureblood shite, and now you want to celebrate? I can’t fucking sleep at night for all the horrors I dealt with, for my arm still throbbing, but you’re going to take the bloody credit? Not fucking likely.” 

“Er,” Daphne says. “Look, this is exactly why we need to clear the air. And Harry and Ron are here, they’re down in Slytherin there. Come on, Granger. Isn’t this what YOU fought for?”

Hermione works her jaw. Neville steps forward. “I think we should, Hermione. Last year was utterly miserable for everyone, even in Slytherin, and I’m just. I’m tired of it. Aren’t you?” 

Blaise speaks up again. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust us, but we’re just asking for a chance. You’ve talked about change so much, Granger, now’s your opportunity. I promise, you won’t regret it.” 

“I already regret it,” she says, sighing. “You better be serious - and completely honest with us, because I will make sure you regret it if you don’t.” 

“Cross my heart,” Daphne says, smiling. “Come on. Have I mentioned I love your new hair? You’re starting a trend.” 

***

“You know, most wizards prefer witches with longer hair,” Blaise says, approaching. He has two glasses clinking in one hand and a bottle of firewhiskey in the other. “I, however, prefer your cut. It really shows off your face.”

“Oh give up,” she groans. 

He hands her the glasses which she takes automatically, her eyes still more on the way Ron is laughing with Daphne and Tracey. He hadn’t really acknowledged her when she walked in, but that was okay. Harry had given her a huge hug. Honestly, it hasn’t even been a week. 

“Professor McGonagall told us not to reveal ourselves to anyone not in this room,” he says, eyes wide, and glancing at Ron. “And she was doing her scary thing. It was scary.” 

“The boy-who-lived twice, everyone,” Ron had said dryly, and even Hermione had to laugh. 

Blaise uncorks the bottle of Ogden’s Finest and pours them both a drink. He takes one and knocks it against Hermione’s. “Salute.” 

“Sante.”She throws back the firewhisky with a slight wince and tries to hand him the glass, but he just tilts the bottle and pours her another. 

“I’m serious about your hair,” he says. “You look really good.” 

“For a mudblood,” she says. 

He jerks back. “Don’t say that.” 

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? You can try your revisionist history on others, but I remember distinctly and on many occasions, hearing that word come out of your mouth.” 

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I was an idiot.” 

“So if you think a bit of flattery and that pathetic excuse for an apology is going to make us friends, or worse, get my knickers all wet, you’re off your trolley.” 

“I’m not trying to get into your knickers,” he says quietly. “Just trying to restore amends.” 

“Yes, well, I don’t think you’re nearly as honest as a Shakespearean sprite, so you’ll pardon me if I don’t go falling at your feet.” 

“Please don’t. It would be a shame to have to drop this bottle to catch you.” 

She laughs, albeit unwillingly. 

“I do think it would be a bit funny to make that ginger tosser go mental,” he says, though. “So pretend you like me for a few minutes. He’s watching, you know.” 

“That’s all the more reason not to talk with you.” 

“If you want him back, jealousy’s the way to go.” 

She laughs at that. “Oh, I’m not after a reunion.”

Blaise looks sceptical. She shrugs and tosses back the drink. Harry strolls up then, back from the bathroom. 

“Zabini,” he greets cheerfully. “Oh, Hermione, Siri sends his love, and asked me to give you this. Says you’ll love it.”

She hands her glass to Harry and he drains it as she unwraps the parcel, Blaise still watching curiously. “Oh! He figured out how to transfigure it so it’ll play.” 

“Is that a CD player?” Blaise asks. He picks up some of the CD cases and looks at them. “That’s a great album,” he says, handing the case to her. “Whole thing is amazing, but the last song, the lyrics…”

She raises an eyebrow and he looks faintly embarrassed. “‘ fighting the devil futility and feeling the monster clawing deeper inside of me…’ I can relate.” 

She realizes she is staring and shakes it off. “So you have good taste in music. You know some muggle songs; so what?” 

He nods his head. “Nothing.” 

“Yeah, nothing,” she says flatly. “What you did while Harry and I and Ron fought, while Dean and Luna were imprisoned at Malfoy Manor, while muggleborns were hunted and killed, and…” she trails off, turning away. 

“You’re right. We can’t all be heroes like you. Have a good night, Granger.” 

***

Something about the way he says that bothers her and like Padfoot with a bone, she gnaws at it and gnaws at it until she can get down to what it is that has her so worked up. It’s just, those two words at the end. Like you. It’s just a phrase, probably means nothing, but something in his voice had implied it meant something. We can’t all be heroes. We can’t all be heroes, like you.

A bit of ambiguity there. Of course it sparks her curiosity. What did he mean by it?

It has the side effect of leaving her humming David Bowie for days on end, until Neville asks her what the tune is. She ends up telling him all about the conversation, swinging her feet from where she sits on the table in the greenhouse. She can just see the quidditch players practicing through a gap in the leaves near the roof. One streaks off from the rest, heading their way; then pulls up, hand in the air, triumphant. 

“Why does it have to mean anything?” Neville asks when she finishes telling him all about it. He finishes repotting the devil’s snare and gives its leaves a light stroke. One tiny tendril shoots out and wraps around his thumb, but then releases just as quickly, retreating back into the plant. 

“He’s a Slytherin, they always have reasons for what they do.” 

He says nothing, looking down at his dirty hands. 

“What, Neville?” 

“It’s only a suspicion,” he says slowly. “But we got lucky a few too many times last year. Escapes from the Carrows, that sort of thing. I started wondering if maybe there was something at play, and Parvati… well, she never said, but I get the feeling she had a boyfriend or someone she was sneaking out to see, but… I don’t know, sometimes I saw this glimpse of another side of her.” 

Hermione smiles a little. “Parvati knew about Fred and I from the beginning and she never said a word to anyone. She also knew Trelawney was a fraud.” 

Neville raises his eyebrows. “So why did she love Divination so much?” 

“Two reasons: One, she told me once it was all reading people - reading them and knowing them. Then, it becomes easy to predict what they’ll do next. Two, because Lavender loved it.” 

Neville absorbs this. “Parvati defended me in first year, remember? Our flying class.”

“Yes. Beneath that flighty exterior, Parvati is shrewd and calculating, and she uses people’s perception of her to her own advantage.” 

“That’s very Slytherin of her,” Neville says, grinning a little. “Parvati was always the one who seemed to have the information. It wasn’t something in her tea leaves or cards, either. What if it was Zabini?”

“Why do you think it was him?” 

Neville heads over to the sink to wash his hands, not answering right away. Hermione waits patiently.

“Timing,” he ventures. “Blaise got busted more than once by Professor McGonagall for being out after curfew, and it was always in one of the towers. It was the same nights Parvati would come in late, and at least a few of those coincided with us learning who the Carrows were targeting next, or even when Snape was going to be out of the castle.” 

“I know Harry has this whole thing about Snape,” Hermione says, “but I still kind of hate him for how he treated us. Especially you.” 

“Fuck yes,” Neville says, feelingly. “Harry can justify it to himself all he wants, but last year, Snape was horrid. I don’t care how much of a front he had to put up; that fucker enjoyed it.” 

“Well, right now, this is all conjecture, and Parvati hasn’t been around since Lav’s funeral.”

“Has anyone heard from her?” Neville asks. 

“Padma got an owl from her last week. She says she’s doing alright, she’s just doing some kind of research project. It’s an independent study abroad. According to Padma, she’s getting credit for it, and she’ll be taking her NEWTs with the rest of us.” 

Neville finishes putting their stuff away and Hermione hops down from the table, brushing dirt off her hands. The topic shifts to their latest assignment in Care of Magical Creatures, with her giving Neville some pointers for working on his essay. 

“I still can’t believe Professor Weasley didn’t tell us he was taking the position until we got here for the opening feast,” he says. 

Indeed, it had been a surprise - albeit a good one - to see Charlie sitting at the table between Professor Sinistra and Hagrid. Ginny had let out a shriek when she saw him, her face brightening considerably, though her hopes for an easy grade were dashed quickly when they cornered him after their first day. 

“Professor McGonagall and Hagrid came to an agreement that he was probably best suited for continuing his role as Gamekeeper, while I have achieved my mastery in magical creatures.”

“But you love Romania,” Ginny said. 

“I do. And I can certainly go back and visit at any point, but the truth is, we’re also scouting land for a secondary reserve in Wales and/or Ireland, and I’m leading that team. It’s a bit hush-hush, so don’t go spreading it around, mind, but it helps that I’m here. We’re also not above exploiting some of our connections at the Ministry to get through some of the red tape.” 

“And I’m not above exploiting my connections to the hot new Care of Magical Creatures professor to get a decent grade,” Ginny said, smiling at him. 

Charlie snorted. “You’re quite mad if you think I’m going to go easy on you just because you’re my sister.” 

“So you’ll go easy on me for a different reason? Because I’m cute? Because I’ve had a hard year?” 

He just looked at her like she was nuts. “Every word out of your mouth is me revising my lesson plan to make it more difficult. You’re going to be an example to the class, Ginevra. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do to get you lot into NEWTs shape, and I’m sure you’re going to show just what an exemplary, hardworking student you’ll be.” 

She pouted. “Maybe I’ll drop the class, then.” 

“And maybe I’ll tell Kendra Robinson of the Harpies that you can’t be arsed putting in the work. You might recall that she was captain of the Gryffindor team my third year. That was the year we won the House Cup.” 

Ginny looked outraged. “You wouldn’t.” 

Charlie, however, was dead serious. “I would. If you want to make it in quidditch, you have to be willing to put in the time. Quidditch is a dangerous sport, especially at the pro level, and there is no such thing as skiving off. You have to be more disciplined than everyone else trying to make that team, and they will be looking at your grades and your work ethic as much as your ability in the air.”

Ginny looked mutinous, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I know you’re a hard worker, Ginny, but I’m serious. If I were to go easy on you, I wouldn’t last a month in this role. Don’t undermine me, and I won’t undermine you.” 

He stood up, grabbing his jacket and basilisk-hide gloves. “We all know coming back here was going to be difficult for many reasons, not the least that your educations have all been lacking. We can have fun doing the work, but we have to do it.” 

“Well, on the bright side, it’s going to be a lot better than last year,” Luna points out, making Hermione jump. She’d forgotten she was even there. “Will you be teaching about the snorkacks this semester?”

To his credit, Charlie just smiled and shook his head. “Afraid not this year, Luna.” 

“Oh well, I’m sure the other lessons will be good.” 

“I appreciate your vote of confidence. Now go, it’s dinnertime and I have classes to prep for later. I need my strength.”

***

Hermione has never been particularly close with Charlie, being the Weasley who was away most often, and then she’d gone and bollocksed up with both Fred and Ron. So it’s somewhat of a surprise that he asks her to come have tea with him after class. 

“Just wanted to check in on you,” he says cheerfully, pouring carefully. The teapot looks ever so delicate in his large hands, but he’s got a grace that belies his size. “On one hand, you’re quite possibly the strongest, most capable witch I know. On the other hand, you’ve gone through quite a lot, and I know Ginny is still being a bit shirty with you. And often, it’s not until well after an event has settled that people start really feeling the effects of it. I just want you to know that my door’s open for you.” 

“Thanks,” she says, and takes a sip of tea. Charlie makes his tea strong and it’s an Assam tea. It’s perfect, and she savors it. “Right now, I’m about as okay as can be expected. I’m settling in here and getting back to my studies is good.” 

“Are you still having nightmares and panic attacks?”

She makes a face. “Every once in awhile. I’m dealing with them.” 

“Well, if you have one and you need someone to talk to, send me a patronus. We can meet here to chat over tea, or there’s a small kitchen/sitting room in Marauder’s Tower that would be a good meeting place.”

She looks at him consideringly, and one corner of his mouth twitches. “Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff have talked about ways we can help the students this year cope with everything that happened. This is part of that. There’s a second part, and I wanted to talk to you about how best we could introduce it to the student body.” 

Hermione takes another sip of her tea and cocks her head. 

“We’d like to institute something of a mentor program between the older and younger kids. In several muggle schools, they have this, where a senior, which would be our seventh years, become a kind of “big sister” or “big brother” to a younger student. This is someone they can turn to for everything from homework help to questions about getting around the school, and someone they can trust to guide them through their first year. I know we’ve already been back almost two weeks but it feels like it’s necessary. We don’t have the staff to really take on everyone, but it’s clear that our students are floundering.” 

“It’s more than the first years, though,” she says consideringly. “It’s all the students. Maybe we assign pairs throughout the student body and then also designate larger groups made up of those pairs? Then, assign them each a group project of some kind, not necessarily to do with academics or sports, but - I don’t know, maybe based on interests?” 

Charlie’s nodding. “I like the idea of some kind of inter-house group. Perhaps each one comes up with their own project, whether it be hosting some kind of social activity or friendly competition, or developed around some kind of skill or club. We would clearly have a professor assigned to each group based on interests.”

She nods. “I have no problem being a mentor, but I don’t want to be in charge of anything. I have enough on my plate, and this year, I want to concentrate on my education.” 

Charlie smiles and it reminds her of Fred’s. “The last thing we’d want is for this to interfere with anyone’s schoolwork. I’ll run it by Minerva and the rest of the staff; see what they think.” 

***

It’s no surprise that she ends up in Charlie’s group. She’s joined by Neville, Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini in her year group, a few seventh-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, three sixth-year Slytherins, and two fifth-year Gryffindors for the upper years. She greets Dennis Creevey and his friend Euan with warmth and Dennis manages to smile back, but says nothing. He hasn’t spoken since the Battle of Hogwarts. Losing Colin has been really hard on him. 

It’s affecting his schoolwork to some degree, but he’s gotten surprisingly good at nonverbal magic fairly quickly. 

Charlie has a list of pairings for the mentoring relationships. Some are paired with someone in their own house, but several aren’t. Hermione is paired up with a first year Ravenclaw. 

Blaise is paired with a first year muggleborn which shocks her until she realizes that all the purebloods are paired with muggleborns or half-bloods, and muggleborns like she and Dennis are paired with purebloods. 

“Now, everyone here has a partner? Great. Here is our challenge: We’re going to build a set of stables and barns for some of our magical beasts using primarily muggle methods.” 

Charlie shows them the blueprints and how he’s dividing up the work. “Of course, we’re not housing mundane animals, so we’ll need to add some magical enchantments and protections, plus adapt them for accommodation of the longer snouts and the fire-breathers as well. Another wrench - pardon the pun - is that the muggle tools that run with electricity don’t work so well on Hogwarts grounds, so we’re going to work with a bit of old-fashioned muscle.” 

He flexes his biceps and some of the girls “oooh.” 

Hermione snorts. Charlie is admittedly very attractive. He’s the shortest of the Weasley males, though given that Bill, Ron and Arthur are all quite tall, that only puts him at about average height. He’s got so many freckles it should make him look ridiculous, but they just serve to make him look more approachable somehow - which balances out his intimidating physique.

He gives them the blueprints and points to a pile of tools. “Okay, we’re going to divide up into groups and today, we’ll figure out how to use the tools and the materials we already have.”

Hermione and her new little sister head toward one of the piles, with Hermione explaining some of the tools laid in front of them. Hammer and nails are easy, but she’s not really been around muggle tools herself that often - her father was handy with a dental drill but for any handyman kinds of things, he hired contractors. 

“No, see, that’s a Phillips-head screwdriver.” It’s Blaise’s first year, also a muggleborn. “Me da remodeled our house last year, ‘n I helped out a bit.” 

Blaise looks up and meets Hermione’s eyes. “Hey, why don’t the four of us team up and see what we can make of this?” 

Hermione shrugs. So long as he doesn’t attempt to switch mentor assignments, she can’t see it hurting. They sit down in a group with the tools and information and start chatting, working with the tools and using two boards to practice with the hammer and nails and screwdrivers and screws. 

“Why would you use the screws if a hammer is easier?” Hermione’s little sister, Espeth, asks. 

Blaise takes the two pieces of board he’d hammered together and easily pulls them apart. “The straight nail is easier to drive in, but it also is easier to pull apart again, and as soon as any weight or pressure is on it, that’s what it will do.” 

“The screw, because it creates threads, makes it more difficult ta pull apart,” Jonathan adds. 

“So then, why bother with a hammer and nails when the screws are always better?” 

“Ah, but nails are actually stronger than screws,” Charlie says, answering when none of them can come up with an answer. “A nail will bend, but not break, whereas a screw will often break off under pressure.” 

“Why?” 

“No idea,” Charlie says cheerfully. “Perhaps you should look it up and have an answer for us for the next session.” 

Jonathan groans, but Espeth and Hermione both nod solemnly. 

#### November 1998, Hogwarts

The quidditch stands are chilly, but Hermione has cast a warming charm on her hands, feet and nose. Harry is sitting beside her, chatting to Seamus, Neville and Hannah, while Sirius sits on her other side, uncharacteristically quiet. 

Hermione steals a glance at him. He looks about as tired as she feels. 

“Trouble sleeping again?” she asks quietly. 

He quirks his lips up. 

“You?” 

“Nightmare.” She rubs her arm. 

Sirius nudges her with his shoulder. “You talked to anyone about it?” 

She raises her eyebrows. “Besides you?” 

He barks out a laugh. “I don’t think I count.” 

“Why ever not?” 

He shrugs. “I’m not -- I’m not a shrink.” 

Her eyes narrow. That was not what he was going to say originally. 

“No, and thank Merlin for that,” she says lightly. “I’d end up with a shrunken head, but knowing you, it’d be literal.” 

He smirks. “If I thought I could tame your hair, I’d try it.” 

“Touch my curls and you’ll have your wand so far up your arse, you’ll be belching out hexes,” she says sweetly. 

He clutches at his chest. “Hermione my love, you say the sweetest things.” 

She groans. “Cheeky arsehole.” 

She’d half thought she wouldn’t hear much from Sirius once she was gone from Grimmauld Place, but that hasn’t been the case at all. He’s apparently decided to become some kind of odd uncle-type figure to her, much as he is to Harry. Harry, of course, is delighted by this development and Sirius seems to be taking great pride in counseling Harry on his rocky relationship with Ginny. 

She’d finally forgiven Harry just before they left for Hogwarts, but Harry reports that her letters have been odd and stilted, and a little bit cold. 

When Hermione sees Ginny, which isn’t often, she tends to be surrounded by her quidditch team. Hermione tells Harry this by letter and Harry details all the bizarre and sometimes alarming tips Sirius gives for repairing the relationship.

Hermione’s feelings are a bit more mixed; Sirius means well, but he tends to charge into situations recklessly and speaks often without seeming to think things through. “Seeming” being the operative word; Sirius grew up in a pureblood, Slytherin family and he was a marauder. He’s a right sneaky bastard when it comes down to it and Hermione has her doubts that his most of his impulsiveness is real. Besides, she’s also been around him quite a bit; he’s a canny bastard. 

Still, it’s nice getting his letters. His intelligence comes out in his writing and she begins to see a pattern to his way of thinking; he’s quite logical though he never comes to the same conclusion Hermione would.

The letters they exchange are often lengthy intellectual debates; several times something he says sends her to the library to check the references. He must do the same, for he’ll include some kind of note or rebuttal with another reference in his reply. He also manages to incorporate some kind of reference or line from Monty Python or one of his muggle songs in every one of them. The songs he references are always obnoxiously catchy tunes that get stuck in her head for days. 

And after he’d started opening up, revealing nightmares and his random thoughts in his letters; she’d done the same, putting words to the frustration and restlessness she’s been feeling ever since the battle. 

I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the next crisis. Honestly, Ron and Harry are going to be great aurors, but while they’re doing that, I’m afraid I’m always going to be their go-to resource. I wonder if I’ll ever truly get a moment’s peace.

That was in her last letter. Her last nightmare was about them having missed a horcrux and Voldemort rising yet again, catching them unaware. She’d watched in helpless horror as Voldemort used the Sword of Gryffindor to behead Harry, his head rolling to the ground to stop at her feet. 

She didn’t share the details, or that she’d spent the next two days barely functional, but from his glances, she’s pretty sure Sirius is at least partially aware. 

It helps that Harry is sitting beside her now, alive and well. Until she’d seen and spoken to him, she hadn’t felt truly reassured. 

He’s happy to be cheering on his girlfriend. She’s an amazing chaser and a great team captain, too. Her new seeker is a fourth year by the name of Gina McCleod. 

The name of the girl has haunted Hermione since the tryouts. Oh, she knows she’s seen Gina before in the common room over the past few years, but she can’t place why hearing the name has thrown her. Today, something in the way Luna says the name as she commentates strikes a chord and the memory falls into place. Gina was one of George and Fred’s firsties. 

Gina is tiny, but she’s fierce and when she spies the snitch, she goes after it with savage determination, swerving in front of the other seeker, making the boy pull up or collide with her. She clutches it with a shout of triumph that carries on the wind to the stands where they sit. Harry has been watching her and he stands up, clapping and stomping his feet in approval. 

Hermione is filled with fondness for her best friend as he makes his way to his girlfriend when they come down through the crowds of parents. She and Sirius follow at a slower pace, giving him his chance to give her a congratulatory kiss. They catch up in time to hear her ask where her parents are, and Harry to tell her they’re meeting them after for lunch in Hogsmeade. 

“Charlie will be with us, too,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

Hermione starts to follow them toward the gates, but Ginny glares at her. “Sorry, Hermione. This one is family only.” 

Harry frowns and Sirius shakes his head, starting to protest. 

“No, I won’t have her setting mum off,” Ginny says. “It’s my celebration, and I don’t want them fighting. You understand, don’t you?” 

“Well, in that case, I best not go,” Sirius says. “She’s not fond of me either.” 

Ginny starts to protest, but glances at Harry and changes her mind. “It probably is,” she agrees. 

Charlie meets up with them just as Hermione and Sirius start to walk away. “Aren’t you all coming?” 

“No,” Ginny says before anyone else can answer. “It’s Weasleys only.” 

“I guess that means I’m out, too,” Harry says. 

“Nonsense, you’re part of the family,” Ginny says, clutching his arm and pulling him to her side. “Mum thinks of you like a son.” 

Harry bites his lip; his longing for a good mothering clearly at war with his desire to be loyal to Hermione. 

“Well, she is a pureblood,” Sirius murmurs to Hermione. “Manipulation is in her veins.” 

Hermione snickers. 

“Anyway, I’m really not in the mood to deal with Molly today. I am, however, in the mood to hang out with my favorite goddaughter.” 

She looks at him askance. 

“You and Harry are like brother and sister,” Sirius says, shrugging. “Therefore, I’ve adopted you as my goddaughter, too. Someone clearly needs to keep an eye on you, getting Harry into trouble all those years.” 

She smacks him playfully, smiling, just as Harry catches up to them. “What about me? Want to hang out with your favorite godson?” 

Hermione looks back and Ginny is glaring daggers. 

“Go with Ginny,” Hermione tells him softly. “Don’t make this worse.” 

“We’ll hang out later, pup. Hermione can show me off around Hogwarts and all the changes.” 

Harry doesn’t look happy, but he goes. 

They go into the Great Hall to have lunch, first. Professor McGonagall comes and chats with him for a few minutes after she’s done eating, patting his shoulder fondly and scolding him at the same time about some old prank or another. Flitwick also comes by and he and Sirius chat about a few specific charms the marauders had used at some point or another.

Hermione’s had a chance to get used to the changes in the castle, though there are still places she avoids, where the scars can still be seen. She sees it all anew, though, as she provides explanations to Sirius in a low voice. 

“Where -- Remus, do you know?” 

She shakes her head. “But he and Tonks were together, even at the end.” 

“How romantic,” he spits.

“Not romantic. Foolish,” Hermione says. “Harry’s parents both died because they were there, defending Harry, but it’s clear from Harry’s memories that if they had a choice, Lily would have taken Harry and gone. Tonks left her child to come here and now he’s an orphan.” 

Sirius glances down at her. “You think she should have stayed home?”

“I think one of them should have, yes.” 

“Tonks would say that she was defending her child by being there, in this fight.” 

“And if we’d lost? Then who would have defended Teddy then?” 

Sirius squeezes her shoulder briefly, but he doesn’t reply. 

They walk down the hall past a blatantly new patch of wall and Hermione instinctively looks away, speeding her steps like she always does when she must walk this path. 

“Where are all the ghosts?” Sirius asks quietly. 

“They’re around sometimes. Nick and the Friar come to the Great Hall a few times a week for dinner, but even they’ve been scarce. No one has seen hide nor hair of the Grey Lady or the Bloody Baron. Even Peeves has been quiet.” 

“Sometimes, on a battlefield or in times when the veil is thin, old ghosts are able to pass through with the souls of those who die,” Sirius says. He squeezes her hand once more, then lets go. “Show me the astronomy tower. Maybe Aurora will be there. Now there’s a woman who knows how to appreciate a star. Get it?” 

Hermione groans. “Seriously?” 

He snickers in response, and she just slaps her hand to her face. “Come on, then.” 

On their way up to the tower, they run across Blaise and Millicent coming from the library. Hermione introduces them and watches their reactions closely. Millie’s eyes widen but then she schools her face and offers her hand, which Sirius, in fine pureblood form, kisses. 

Blaise has a less obvious tell; one eyebrow twitches slightly, but he is smooth when he shakes Sirius’ hand, just says, “Mr. Black. Pleasure.” 

They fall into step with them, talking about the work they’re doing for Flitwick’s NEWTs class. Millie, like Theo Nott, has grown into something more than her upbringing. She’s also gone from the chubby girl she was to a beautiful, curvy woman with poise and confidence. 

She’s got a wicked sense of humor; she and Blaise tend to feed off each other. Hermione has, more than once this semester, found herself pressing her fist to her mouth to try and stem her horrified laughter. The things they say are often a bit mean, but the delivery makes it hilarious. 

In true Millicent fashion, she soon has Sirius practically eating out of her hand with her observations. They walk ahead, while Blaise hangs back with Hermione. 

She and Blaise make small talk about the barn raising project; theirs is coming along pretty nicely. After she and Espeth had done some research, they’d decided to use nails for the structural part, as over time, the wood would shift due to temperature variations, wind, even the earth’s vibrations.. 

“While strong, it needs to have a bit of flexibility,” Hermione had said, and Blaise and Jonathan agreed. “A bit of movement within the nails will keep it from snapping apart completely, while still maintaining some structural integrity.” 

The work is harder than they all expected, but it’s satisfying to see the structures go up. They’ve all made good progress and while each team of four seems to be in charge of their own structure, they all help out at various times on each other’s. 

True to what she and Charlie had discussed, it also seems to be having a positive effect inside Hogwarts, and not just for their group. Overall, people seem happier. There’s a larger group that have decided to put together a play, and the theater kids can be seen running lines or talking about the various costumes and set design. 

In fact, the set design group came down to talk to their group about tools and building and, after some thought, they’d all decided to pitch in and help when it comes to the construction of that. 

Luna and Dean are part of a group that are designing a huge mural in the Entrance Hall. There is an enormous cloth covering the wall and scaffolding, spelled to keep anyone but the participating students and Professor Sinistra from seeing it before it’s ready. Luna, as head girl, doesn’t have a little sister assigned to her - she, the head boy, and the other prefects already have a lot on their plates - but they are enjoying their time working with their groups, and they’ve decided to try and have it ready for the opening night of the play. 

There are a few other projects all in place, and they seem to be giving the students something to focus on, things to look forward to. And the mentor relationships seem to be paying off dividends, as more and more people branch out and make friends, both with their little/big sister, but within their mentoring groups.

Blaise is, Hermione must admit, not terribly bad. She’s still a bit resentful of the Slytherins as a whole, but she’s starting to see that they aren’t all Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. 

“There’s a party next weekend at Adrian Pucey’s house,” Blaise says abruptly. “Would you like to come?” 

“I highly doubt I’ll be welcome.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t invite you if you weren’t.” 

“Yes you would, to see me show up so you all could humiliate me -- or sacrifice me in a ritual killing to cleanse the world of muggleborns,” she says lightly. 

Blaise, however, isn’t fooled. “Adrian is a half-blood. His mum’s from some rich muggle family, and the Puceys needed the money, so they accepted her with reluctance, but he’s always gotten some shit about his blood status from certain parties.” 

“You included, I’m sure.” 

“Me included,” Blaise admits. “But he and I made our peace a few years ago. He’s a good bloke. I think you’ll like him.” 

“So who else will be there? I don’t care how accepting he is, I doubt I’d be comfortable in a room full of pureblood Slytherins this soon.” 

Blaise nods. “I figured. Well, he’s always been inseparable from Terence Higgs and Cassius Warrington -- “ 

“So then Parkinson will be there,” Hermione says, scowling. 

“No, didn’t you hear? Warrington broke it off with her as soon as he heard she tried to turn Harry over. Warrington’s family is like mine; they were neutral. If anything, the Higgs, Puceys and Warringtons lean toward the light side, especially after what happened to Gladys Higgs in the last war.” 

Hermione hadn’t heard about Gladys Higgs, so she asks. 

“She refused to take the dark mark, and when they tried to Imperius her, she threw them all off. So they raped her - while using the cruciatus on her. They said it made it more fun.” 

Hermione presses the back of her hand to her mouth. Ahead, Sirius and Millie have stopped talking and listening to them. 

Millie shakes her head. “She’s the reason my father took the mark,” she says softly. “They threatened my grandmother with the same treatment. My father couldn’t handle the thought of them doing that to her.” 

“Barbaric,” Hermione says. “Absolutely disgusting.” 

“No one’s arguing that,” Blaise says. 

“No, arguing anything would be against your policy,” Hermione says, and tries to bury the bitterness away. “Can’t break neutrality.” 

“It’s not that simple, Hermione,” Sirius says. “Oh, you know I’m the first one to call out cowardice, and I’m not saying I supported anyone being neutral - even in the last war. But even staying neutral was a dangerous move for families like the Zabinis.” 

“How’s that? Seems like playing both sides; they don’t lose anything, no matter which side wins.” 

“If the Dark Lord had won, he would have eliminated the muggleborns and blood traitors --”

“Which you had no problem with a few months ago,” Hermione says. 

“--first, then come after the half-bloods and neutrals,” Blaise continues.

“He never would have trusted us to be loyal. He would have always been afraid one of us would be the next to rise against him,” Millie says. “Our stand wasn’t to play both sides, but to play neither.”

“I don’t see the difference.” 

“Dumbledore and the light would have us stripped of all our traditions - traditions muggleborns know nothing about and don’t care to, unless it’s to point out how wrong and evil we are. And Voldemort was the flip side of the same coin; he had no issue wiping out entire families of purebloods, or anyone who stood in his way.” 

“How are we supposed to know your traditions if you refuse to share them?” Hermione asks. “I came here knowing absolutely nothing about being a witch, but that was not my fault. The Statute of Secrecy prevented me knowing anything about magic until I reached a certain age. And as soon as we come here, muggleborns like me are always trying to play catch up. And the thing is, you don’t look down upon us because of our lack of knowledge. No, that’s too easily rectified. It’s because of our supposedly dirty blood.”

“While you have a valid point in there, Millie’s right,” Sirius says. “The point is valid that muggleborns come charging in and start demanding change. Don’t deny it, Hermione - how soon after you heard about house elves did you start trying to get them freed? Did you really bother to find out what they wanted and what they needed before you made assumptions based on what you knew about the muggle past?” 

“You and the Weasley twins,” she mutters, her face hot. “I’ve already gotten this lecture.” 

Sirius smiles gently at her. “Look, your intentions were honorable, and you did - rightly - call me out on my own mistreatment of Kreacher. But Hermione’s also right,” he says turning to them. “We make no effort to educate anyone coming in except for in magic itself, and we treat them terribly for not knowing it.” 

“Even the so-called blood traitors and half-bloods are bad,” Hermione adds, and they all turn to her again, surprised. “Ron was constantly acting as if living without magic was some horrible handicap. And Arthur, much as I adore him, treats me as if I’m some kind of exotic species he must study.” 

“Isn’t it, though? No one who comes from the muggle world ever goes back to not using magic,” Zabini points out. “After all you suffered, you’re still here, learning more magic.” 

“That you know of,” she shoots back. “But that’s besides the point. Magic is definitely handy and I would be sad to give it up, but mostly, it’s simply another skill. Granted, muggles have no talent for it, so it’s impossible to develop if you don’t have the spark, but it’s really just like art. You have some talent, then you can develop that talent through education and practice of the craft. People who don’t have any ability to draw can still figure out other ways to express and communicate, and magic is the same way.” 

“That’s all well and good, but there are plenty of muggles who’d burn us at the stake for having this talent,” Millie says. 

“I know,” Hermione says, frowning. “Trust me, I know.” 

“And they’re no better or worse than the purebloods who’d burn muggles and hunt them down,” Blaise says. “Which is why most of us prefer neutral. It’s really not about waiting to throw our lot in with the winners; it’s really about choosing a third option - to keep our traditions and our magic safe without the violence.” 

Hermione thinks about arguing further, but at that stage, McGonagall approaches with Harry at her side. “Ah, Mr. Black, I believe it’s nearly time for our students to return to their studies and Mr. Potter would like to say goodbye to Miss Granger.”

“You are looking more and more ravishing every day,” Sirius says, causing McGonagall to roll her eyes. 

“Must I remind you that flattery will get you nowhere with me? You should have learned that lesson as a student. I do have something to discuss with you if you don’t mind joining me in my office for a cup of tea before you leave.”

#### December 1998, London

Hermione steps off the train at Kings Cross and sees Sirius and Harry talking to Molly. She’d told Sirius he needn’t come, but he’d insisted and she is glad to see him. 

Molly pushes past her without a greeting, calling out for Ginny. A flash of irritation crosses Harry’s face and Sirius looks ready to say something, but Hermione shakes her head at them both. 

She quickly hugs Harry, then makes way for Ginny, who flies into his arms and gives him a rather passionate kiss. Harry pulls back, blushing. 

Charlie exits the train, having made sure all the students were off. His duty discharged, he makes his way over to them, greeting Sirius with a manly half-hug and a back slap. Hermione catches a glimpse of both Molly and Ginny frowning at him. 

Espeth drags her parents over to meet Hermione, while Charlie talks to her parents, praising Espeth for her work with Hermione, Blaise and Jonathan. Like they’ve heard their names, the two show up and Jonathan excitedly introduces his parents to Espeth and her parents. The two sets greet each other warmly. 

Blaise surprises Hermione by pulling her into a hug. Not a quick, perfunctory one either, but a full body, lingering one that makes her feel warm inside. It’s not quite as good as a Weasley hug, but it’s nice. When she opens her eyes, she can see people gawking at them over his shoulder - and realizes the hug is as much a political maneuver as it is genuine - because it is that, too. 

Millie and Tracey also hug her goodbye after Blaise steps back and the trio head off, most likely to Blaise’s villa in Italy or some such nonsense. He’d invited her along, but Hermione already has a place to be for the holidays. 

From the moment she stepped off the train, Hermione has been aware of the stares. Part of it is Harry, of course, and she has her own fame now - both good and bad. But Sirius is getting his own share of attention - attention that he’s clearly uncomfortable with, so she says, “Hey, I’m knackered. Let’s get out of here.”

Charlie gives Hermione a half hug before joining his mum and Harry pulls Hermione into a full bear hug. “Since everyone else is,” he says, grinning as he pulls back. “I’ll see you at home later?” 

She nods, grin fading at the stormy looks on the faces of the Weasley women. Harry notices them and sets his jaw. With a shock, she realizes that he and Charlie are making statements of their own, though this time, it’s not political so much as personal. 

“Come on, goddaughter mine,” Sirius says lightly, and she grabs his arm, smile widening. “We have got some Christmas shopping to do.”

***

She and Sirius are finishing up their wrapping and drinking eggnog when Ron steps out of the floo. Her heart rises into her throat to see him. He greets Sirius, then turns to her.

“Hermione,” he says, and reaches out his hand. 

Mystified, she opens hers and he grabs it, pulling her up into a hug. “I’m still hurt,” he whispers. “But I’m not mad. I miss us.” 

“Ron…” she says. 

“Not like that. I miss our trio. You and me and Harry.” 

She sniffles and pulls back to see his face. He’s smiling at her, his small, lopsided grin that she doesn’t even realize she’s missed so much. She reels him back in, squeezing her arms around his neck, her cheeks hurting from how much she’s smiling. 

“Heads up, Ginny’s on her way through,” he says. “I don’t think she’s inclined to be so forgiving. She and Harry had a big row about you earlier.” 

As if hearing his name, Harry clatters down the stairs. 

“I didn’t even know you were home,” Hermione says. 

Harry shrugs, but he sees Hermione and Ron standing close and grins. 

Ron sighs. “You and Gin have another argument?”

Harry shrugs again and turns to Sirius. “Have you seen Kreacher all morning?”

“No, but I haven’t called for him,” Sirius answers. 

“He hasn’t come when I called,” Harry says. 

Sirius sits up straight. “He has to, unless…”

They all scramble toward the door, heading for Kreacher’s room. Harry yanks the door open and they look down. “Oh no,” Hermione says softly. 

He looked even smaller and more shriveled in death, and yet his face showed nothing but peace. In his hand, he clutched Regulus’ fake locket. 

“How do you er… what’s the procedure for a house elf?” Ron asks. “Proper burial like?”

Sirius shrugs. “We all know how my dear old mum handled it, so clearly we should do something that isn’t that.” 

An elf snaps into being at his elbow. “Lucky will be taking care of Kreacher, Master Potter.” 

Ron jumps. “Bloody hell!” 

This elf looks quite unusual. He has the same ears as Dobby and Kreacher, and his eyes are the same size and shape, though they are a deep blue, but what really makes him stand out is his size. He’s almost as tall as Hermione and he’s quite muscular. He’s also wearing a plaid tablecloth much like a kilt, complete with pleats and the long end pulled up over his shoulder and tucked into his makeshift belt made of rope. 

“Er… where did you come from?” Sirius asks. 

“I is named Lucky. Kreacher was my great-granduncle,” he says, shuffling them out of the way and crouching down to pick up the old elf. “We is burying him, then Lucky is being back to serve the Potter and Black family.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to serve --” Hermione says, but Sirius interrupts her. 

“We appreciate your service, Lucky, and I’m sure you’ll be an absolute credit to your family.” 

Lucky shrugs. “Can’t be doing worse than old Kreacher, can I?” he says almost cheerfully. 

He disappears, leaving all them to stand around staring at each other. “Well,” Ron says. 

Harry looks sad. “I should say something. He was a -- well, he wasn’t a good house elf, really, but he tried. Especially at the end.”

Sirius shrugs. Hermione has to give him credit for at least trying to seem like he cares. Maybe he does, but a lifetime of mutual hatred isn’t erased by a few months of forced civility. 

They hear the floo and then Ginny’s voice, calling out. “I’ll go tell her,” Harry says. 

Ron drifts off, presumably up to his bedroom, but not before he gives Hermione’s arm a quick, friendly squeeze. “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

He goes off, muttering something about mental elves. She hears him greet Ginny in the hall, and then his footsteps thundering up the stairs. 

“So,” Sirius says, looking at her. “That’s good, then.” 

She smiles up at him. “Yes, that’s really good.” 

“Come on, let’s go finish wrapping presents.” 

Ginny glares at her as they pass but Harry is scowling as well, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He’s doing it in part to show off his biceps, which are admittedly quite impressive these days. The auror training is doing him and Ron a world of good, or so Sirius claims. 

“Where are the twins?” Hermione asks when the two of them are settled back in the drawing room with their drinks. 

“Which ones?” Sirius asks with a smirk. 

She rolls her eyes. “The Prewett twins. They’re still staying here, right?” 

“Oh, no. I thought I mentioned that, or Charlie would. They finally got magi-legal access to their vaults and the Prewett properties. They’ve divided the Prewett family heirship between them, though they are living in the same house. Those two are practically inseparable. Charlie’s living there with them. They just formally named him and Ron as their heirs.”

“Not Fred and George?” 

Sirius shook his head. “Fred and George insisted. Said Charlie, as second in line, was rightful heir and that it was high time Ron got acknowledged. Granted, Ron isn’t hurting for money these days, but it comes with a seat on the Wizengamot eventually. And Fred and George won’t do anything without the other, so giving one of them the heirship and not the other would have been weird.” 

Hermione nods. 

“It would have fallen to Percy, of course, had he lived.” 

Hermione swallows against the lump in her throat. That fact alone meant there was no way Fred would take it. He felt guilty enough for Percy’s death; to profit from it would be more than he could bear, and George would stand with his brother in solidarity. 

There are raised voices in the hall, and then a door slamming. Ginny shouts a rather filthy word, then stomps into the room and straight toward the floo, clearly fuming. She grabs the powder dish with enough force to knock it off the mantle; Hermione and Sirius both have their wands out and arrest the movement before it and the powder hit the floor. With a flick of their wrists, they send it back, with only a slight dusting misting to the floor. 

The glare Ginny sends Hermione’s way would have killed a lesser creature. 

Ginny hisses, “The Burrow,” and disappears into the flames. 

“I wonder if she’s ever going to forgive me?” The question isn’t meant for Sirius, but she asks it out loud anyway. 

Sirius sighs. Hermione raises an eyebrow, but Sirius looks down at the package in his hands. 

A few pieces of spello-tape later, and he says, “James took one look at Lily and that was it. It wasn’t love at first sight, not really - puppy love at first, but nothing more than that. But everything she did, who she was - it simply reinforced his initial impression of her. And Harry, as we all know, is the spitting image of James.” 

Hermione opens her mouth, but he looks up and shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says with a crooked smile. “Contrary to popular belief, I always knew the difference between Harry and James.”

Hermione isn’t so sure, but she lets it go, and Sirius keeps talking. “See, the thing is, everyone wants the happy ending for Harry that James and Lily never got. And with Harry looking just like James and Ginny having more than a passing resemblance to Lily, it seems like things are finally falling into place, right? Except they’re not, because Harry is far more like his mum than his dad. And Lily wasn’t sure about James, not for a while.”

“She hated him until seventh year, right?” 

“Yes, and even after they started dating, she broke up with him three times before they settled down. Dated other guys, too. There were times I wanted to wring her neck for what she put James through, but then, he did harass her quite a bit over the years, so he deserved it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Hermione says. “And I’m sure you had a hand in it.” 

“We might have exacerbated the issue a bit,” Sirius admits. “But really, it was that she and James ended up sleeping together. Something happened with the Order; I was away for a bit, and I never did get all the details, but she ended up pregnant with Harry. It was then she decided to settle down with James and when she did, she was all in.” 

Hermione looks up, interest truly piqued. “That goes against quite a lot of what we’d heard about them.” 

“Yes, well, you can do the math,” Sirius says. “It was quick enough for most people to not notice, and Harry was, in fact, a bit of a late arrival, so they lucked out on timing, but Lily was pregnant when they wed.” 

“Wow,” Hermione says. “I forget sometimes… they were my age. I can’t imagine being married and with a baby on the way right now.” 

Especially not with being on the run and everything she’d gone through in the past year. 

“Yes, well, I rather felt the same way,” Sirius says, smirking. “There were far too many lovely young ladies to settle down without first doing some...exploration.” 

“Ew.” 

Sirius chuckles, and the sound that used to grate on her nerves the summer before fifth year is now soothing. “I didn’t mean it in a tawdry way,” he says, though they both know that’s patently untrue. 

“And given what I’ve seen after my reanimation, your lot is certainly making the Marauders look like prudes. Anyway, the point is that Harry is not James, no matter how much he looks like him, and he’s shouldn’t settle down with a witch - no matter how beautiful or brave or 

sweet

she is - before he’s had a chance to really live for himself.”

“Harry’s lived more than most people three times his age,” Hermione says. 

“No, he hasn’t. He’s survived, but that’s taken up enough of his time that he has only just begun to really live,” Sirius counters. “James had that chance at Hogwarts; Harry didn’t - not to the same degree.” 

Hermione thinks about that as she finishes the last of the packages and sends it spinning lightly to land under the tree. Sirius finishes his own and joins her on the couch, both of them kicking their feet up on Harry’s battered trunk. 

“None of that explains why Ginny’s angry at me,” she says, but she’s starting to see where’s he going, and he confirms it.

“You and Ron, Ginny and Harry. Everyone expected it, happy endings all wrapped up in a neat little bow. Storybook endings after the evil villain is vanquished. Only you didn’t stay on script, Hermione. And because you and Ron didn’t last, it cast a shadow of doubt over Harry and Ginny, and Ginny has fancied herself in love with Harry for seven years. She’s mad at you not on Ron’s behalf, or even Fred’s, but because it means maybe her relationship isn’t as predestined as she thought.” 

Hermione absorbs this, and slumps back into the cushions. Sirius summons the bottle of fire whisky and pours them both a glass. 

“Sirius, what about you? Did you ever fall in love?” 

Sirius stares down into his drink. “I… I don’t know,” he says. He tosses it back and sets the glass down with a thud and stands up. “I don’t remember, which probably means I never did. I’ve heard falling in love is quite memorable.” 

She says nothing in response as he leaves the room, but after, lying in her bed and half asleep, she thinks that yes, it really is.

***

Two days before Christmas, the private investigator she’d hired brings her an unexpected present. Her parents have been located in Australia, and they seem to be doing quite well. 

The investigator waits for Hermione to call down before clearing her throat and handing over a picture from her file. 

The photo shows her mother standing on a beach in a bathing suit, beaming at the camera with the tide rolling in behind her. The sun is set low enough to cast a long shadow to her side. It is a happy photo, and it has Hermione choking up for several reasons - not least of which is that her mother is clearly pregnant. 

“She’s having a baby?” 

“My colleagues estimate that she’s due soon,” the investigator confirms. “Congratulations. You’re going to be a sister.” 

There are other photos; each of them showing her mum and dad glowing and clearly thriving. There’s her father, squinting and smiling at her mother’s side as they shop for baby clothes. Another of him through a window, his head on her mother’s belly. 

“So they’re really happy? They’re doing well?” 

“They are indeed,” the investigator confirms. 

While this is happy news indeed, it does change things drastically for Hermione. She’d been planning on seeking them out after NEWTs and restoring their memories. She wanted to bring them back home. Now, she’s not so sure that’s the best option. 

She shows the investigator out just as a trio of owls swoop in. Two are carrying a rather hefty parcel, and Hermione runs her wand over it, making sure there’s nothing dangerous about it. She doesn’t really expect there to be, but they’ve learned that they can’t be too careful. It’s clear, however, and she finds an entire parcel of mail marked for she, Harry and Ron, mostly containing Christmas cards that have been vetted and approved. Practically from the first day that the trio were back, they were getting mail that contained everything from love potions to death threats and dungbombs. Kingsley stepped in and assigned some of the low-level aurors and Ministry employees to go through the mail and ensure there’s nothing dangerous to them. 

Despite that precaution, they’ve learned to double-check anyway, or at least she has. 

There’s a parcel for Sirius as well, and a final is a thick, stiff photo mailer with muggle stamps on it. It contains Harry’s name but no return address. She sets it aside for Harry and goes off to the library, needing some time to think about the revelation that she’s going to be a big sister, and just what that means for her plans. 

***

Hermione is trying to console herself that Christmas this year is far better than last year’s, but it’s not really working. Everyone is celebrating the peace, of course, but there’s too many people missing to really enjoy it. 

Grimmauld Place is decorated well and Sirius has finally stopped singing, “God rest ye, merry Hippogriffs” in favor of putting on the Charlie Brown Christmas record on the turntable. It makes for a lovely mellow soundtrack, counterbalancing the antics of the Weasley twins, Seamus and Ron. 

Harry is with them, but he’s been quiet and withdrawn lately. She sees him watching Ginny with a curious mix of anger and sadness. Hermione wonders if they’ve had another row, but Ginny seems oblivious, smiling at Harry across the room where she sits with her mum and Fleur. 

Neville and Hannah are there, along with Hannah’s dad and older sisters. There is a string hanging along the wall with a bunch of Christmas cards clipped to it, and a tree in the corner near the window. 

The Prewett twins are flirting outrageously with the older Abbott sisters, while Arthur and Mr. Abbott look on, chatting with Bill about the latest sentencing of Death Eaters. 

“I’ve heard you’re doing the Parkinson house next,” Arthur says. 

“It’s on the list, but I don’t expect it to be nearly as difficult as Malfoy Manor.” 

Bill has gone into private practice as a cursebreaker, doing contract work for the Ministry and Gringotts primarily, but also for businesses and individuals. Malfoy Manor had been a large job, impeded at every turn by Narcissa until Lucius’ sentencing; that had seemed to break her resolve. 

Listening to Bill talk about his work is fascinating, and Hermione makes a note to ask him about some of it when Charlie plops down next to her on the loveseat, handing her a drink and smiling at Dean in the chair across from them. 

“I heard Zabini asked you out,” he says, leaning in. 

Hermione scoffs. “Where’d you hear that nonsense?”

“So he didn’t invite you to Pucey’s New Year’s bash?” 

“He did, but that’s hardly asking me out. It’s a party.” 

“You’re going out with Zabini?” Ginny asks, an odd look on her face as she approaches. “Merlin, could you sink any lower?” 

Hermione stiffens. “Zabini isn’t so bad.” 

“He’s a blood purist,” Ginny spits. 

Dean shakes his head. “No, Hermione’s right. Zabini is pretty cool.”

Seamus, Ron and Harry are near enough to hear this, and it has Ron scoffing - loudly. “Zabini’s just trying to cover his own arse, more like. Make himself look good after his side lost.” 

“Zabini was on the winning side,” Neville says quietly, but his voice carries enough that it stops all the conversations and everyone tunes in. “What’s more, Ginny, you know this.”

“Just because he stood up to the Carrows doesn’t mean he was on our side,” Ginny says. “He was defending Bulstrode and everyone knows her dad was a death eater.” 

“He didn’t have much of a choice,” Hermione says, surprising them all. 

“You’re defending death eaters now?” Molly asks shrilly. 

“Hermione’s right,” Sirius says, and all eyes turn to him. “Bulstrode’s family was threatened. He did what he thought he had to do. Doesn’t make it right, though.” 

“No, it doesn’t. And I’m not defending him. I am defending Zabini,” Hermione says. 

Ginny snorts. “What, fucking him too, now?”

The room goes still. 

Hermione levels Ginny with a warning look. 

“That’s rich coming from you,” Harry says softly. 

Ginny whirls around to stare at him, hands on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that you should not be casting stones at Hermione.” 

Ginny flushes. “I’m only telling the truth.” 

“No, you’re accusing Hermione of being a slag,” Sirius says. “That’s uncalled for.” 

“Ron and Fred are my brothers! She hurt them and --”

“Don’t make this about us,” Fred says. 

Ron looks over at him with a twist of his lips, but he nods, crossing his arms. “We’re good, me and Hermione.” 

“See, Ginny? Ron and Fred have forgiven her!” Harry says, throwing up his hands. “Not that it’s any of your business, but for fuck’s sake, Ginny, you act like she did it just to hurt you.” 

“She lied to all of us! All this time, she acted all superior, Miss Perfect Prefect, but she’s sneaking around behind all our backs - and then pretended it didn’t happen. I don’t care if she’s a slut, she can whore around with Zabini and Nott and whoever else she wants, but she shouldn’t fucking lie about it.” 

“You might want to think twice before you go accusing me of something that could just as easily apply to you,” Hermione says, glad her voice only shakes a little. 

Ginny flushes, but she stands her ground. “I’m only saying what we’re all thinking.” 

“No, actually, you’re not,” Fred says. 

“You would say that, you’re still in love with her,” Ginny dismisses. 

Fred flushes. 

“Well I’m not in love with Hermione, and I don’t think that,” George says, scowling. 

Molly stands up, furious. “Are you happy now, Hermione? You’ve started another fight in this family.”

“No, I’m not happy!” Hermione yells, fists clenching at her sides. “How dare you! For Merlin’s sake, Mrs. Weasley, you and Ginny both act so high and mighty. Me? I never claimed to be perfect, but you’re upset over something that happened two years ago, something which has nothing to do with either of you in the first place. You do not have the right to treat me with such disrespect.” 

“Don’t talk to mum that way,” Ginny says. “You have no right.” 

“And you have no right!” Harry shouts. “You’ve been talking utter bollocks about Hermione since August, and I’m sick and tired of it.”

“Oh, and what she just said about me is perfectly fine?” 

“Don’t pretend like Hermione’s not telling the truth.” 

The silence is so thick, it’s almost suffocating. 

Ginny stares at Harry, lips parted in shock. Harry winces, but he doesn’t back down, instead coming to stand next to Hermione. “I love you, Gin, but this isn’t like you. It’s not like either of you,” he says, looking at Molly.

“No,” Ginny says coldly. “I am so sick of you constantly defending her. Do you even realize what you’re doing? She’s been lying all this bloody time, pretending to be this perfect, superior girl, looking down her nose at the rest of us. We’re supposed to follow the rules, of course, but not her. Hermione gets held to a different standard than the rest of the world.”

“So do I,” Harry says. “Or do you hate me for that, too?” 

Ginny looks at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Sometimes, yes. I really do.” 

There is silence, and Hermione seeks out Fred in the room. He’s gripping the back of one of the sofas so hard his fingers have gone white. He meets her eyes. 

“If Hermione’s a liar, so am I,” he says quietly. 

“Me too,” George adds and Hermione feels a lump in her throat. 

Ginny turns to look at them, her face creasing. 

“I knew from the beginning, and I didn’t say anything,” Fred says. “After all, I’m the one who corrupted her.” 

“I knew as well,” Bill says. “So I guess we’re all liars, then?” 

“No, but you guys were never all about following the rules.” 

“Neither was Hermione,” Ron says. He flushes when everyone looks at him, but shrugs. “Oh come on, every bit of trouble Harry and I got into, she was with us. We became friends because she lied on our behalf. Saved our bloody necks, didn’t she? More times than I could count.” 

Ginny sniffs. “Why? Why was Hermione allowed to be part of that and I wasn’t?”

“But you were,” Harry says, his eyebrows drawing together. 

“No, I wasn’t. Not when it mattered. You chose her to be by your side when it came to hunting Horcruxes, and you didn’t tell me anything. You just left me behind.” 

“We had to,” Ron says. “That was our role, and you--”

“And mine should have been by his side,” Ginny says bitterly. “Only you wouldn’t let me go.” 

“Is this what this is about?” Hermione asks. “Are you honestly jealous because I went horcrux hunting and you didn’t?”

Ginny’s lip wobbles and Molly rushes to her side. 

“You would have been a distraction,” Harry says softly. “I couldn’t do what I had to do and worry about you as well.” 

“And you didn’t worry about Hermione?” Ginny asks. 

He shakes his head. “Of course I did. But if you’re really so keen on the truth, Ginny, the truth is that you couldn’t have done what Hermione did. You are amazing, tough, resilient, beautiful and powerful as all hell...but you couldn’t do what Hermione did, and that was to sacrifice everything - her family, her education, even her life - to be by my side. And believe me when I say that I’m glad. I’d never want you to sacrifice everything like that for me. But Hermione did even though I never asked her to, because she knew I needed her help. If she had died, I’d hate it because she’s family to me, but I wasn’t about to look her in the face and tell her that her sacrifice was for nothing.” 

Harry looks around at all the Weasleys in the room. 

“You all came and you all fought, and you’ve all sacrificed so much in this fight. Percy…” He sucks in a breath and soldiers on. “But Hermione gave up everything, and she did it by choice. There’s a reason she’s here today and not with her parents. Hermione didn’t leave my side, not once in these past seven years, and no one else can understand what I have given up like she can, because she’s given it all up, too.” 

Ginny’s lip trembles and for a moment, Hermione’s heart lurches. She’s already in tears, thanks to Harry’s speech; if this can clear the air, it’ll be worth it. 

“But I did sacrifice for you, Harry,” Ginny insists, her face clearing. “You say Hermione sacrificed everything, but she didn’t give up what I did.”

“I know Percy’s death was a terrible shock, Ginny, we all miss him,” Charlie says. “But-”

“And unlike Percy, her parents are still alive, even if they don’t remember. She has that comfort,” Molly says. “Which is more than what we can say.”

“I tried to bring him back,” Ginny whispers. “I’m sorry, mum, I tried. But he didn’t come back.” 

Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. 

“Ginny, what did you do?” Bill asks. He’s gone pale, his hands clenched at his sides.

“It’s called the Lazarus Curse,” Ginny says, her chin lifted. “And even without Percy, it was worth it for the look on your face when you saw Sirius again, Harry. I’d do anything to make you happy, Harry, I told you that. It was a danger, I knew that, coming from Tom, but it turned out alright in the end, with Sirius. And mum, you are happy to see your brothers again, aren’t you?” 

“Oh fuck,” Bill says softly. “Ginny. Ginny, do you have any idea what is required to do the Lazarus Curse? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s really alright, Bill. It’s just a transference, really. A little bit of my soul to bring Percy - I don’t know why it brought back Uncles Fabian and Gideon, but maybe it was because there were three of us, instead of two.” 

“Three of you, what?” Arthur asks, his voice shaking. 

“Three participants in the ritual.” 

Bill has his wand out and he crosses over to Ginny. “I need to check something.” 

He mutters an incantation as he waves the wand over Ginny, head to toe. The tip lights up red, blinking twice when he comes to her belly. Bill sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Twins for twins,” he says softly. “It wasn’t just a bit of your soul that you sacrificed. You were pregnant with twins.” 

“Nonsense,” Molly says. “Ginny couldn’t have been pregnant.” 

“I’m sorry, mum, but she was,” Bill says. 

The Weasleys erupt into noise, while Hermione and Harry turn toward each other. “I don’t understand,” Harry says, his face a mask of confusion. “When did this happen?”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione says softly. 

The slamming of the door startles them, and that’s when they realize that Sirius is no longer in the room. 

Harry looks from Ginny to the door, and Hermione puts her hand on her arm. “I’ll check on him.” 

He nods, relieved.

***

“I think Mr. Abbott has a thing for Andromeda,” Sirius says when she finds him a few minutes later. He’s managed to find a bottle of firewhiskey, which dangles from his fingers. He stares into the fire, moody. 

“Are you okay? I know that was...difficult.” 

Sirius snorts. “Are you kidding? That was nothing,” he says, waving a hand. “You should see what most Christmases were like around here when I was growing up. Aunt Lucretia lost an eye when she and my mum got into it over the gravy boat.” 

“Well if we’re going by that scale,” Hermione says drolly. 

Sirius sips his whisky.

“What were your Christmases like as a child?” he asks her. “Idyllic?” 

“No,” she laughs a little, “No one lost any body parts, but my grandparents really didn’t get along with each other. Each side. Mum’s side thought my father weren’t good enough for my mum, and dad’s side was always a little too proud of their working class heritage. They wore it like a chip on their shoulder. They didn’t mind my dad becoming a dentist, but they didn’t like anyone they thought put on airs, as they called it.” 

Sirius grins. 

“One time, I got an Atari from my Grandma and Grandpa Moreau. I didn’t like video games much; I prefered books - shocking, I know - and so I ended up giving it to my cousin on the Granger side. I thought it would stop them making fun of me, but it didn’t really help. A week later, my dad found out my uncle had sold it to a pawn shop for some cash. He was furious, but I didn’t care.” 

“Were your cousins jealous?” Sirius asks. “Peter would get that way of whatever James would get.” 

“A little bit, I guess. I just wanted them to like me. I would have given them half my presents, if that would have made a difference.” 

Sirius smiles sadly. “People like that, though, they wouldn’t have been real friends. Not in the end.” 

She shakes her head, trying to sort out her thoughts. “What is the Lazarus Curse?” she asks. 

Sirius waves a hand at the books all around them. “We’re in a library.”

“Right.” Hermione rolls her eyes. 

A quick flash of his wand and Sirius has a book in his hands, which he levitates over to Hermione. His easy use of magic impresses her. Sirius has a lot of power; it’s no wonder that he felt cooped up and useless always stuck here. 

So Hermione does what she does best and starts reading. A few paragraphs in and the food and beverages she’d consumed sits like lead in her stomach.

“Well?” Sirius asks. 

“The Lazarus spell shares certain similarities with that required to split and preserve a piece of one’s soul. Both require sacrifice of that which is most sacred; a life taken in exchange to preserve or extend that which was already living. Unlike the making of a horcrux, the sacrifice involved in the invocation of the Lazarus effect requires that the sacrifice be of the self in service to another; in effect, reversing both the role of the victim and the beneficiary.” 

She continues to read on. The text is rather modern and academic for a wizarding book, for all that its subject matter is so dark. She looks at the author and is not surprised to find it was written by a Black, though she doesn’t recognize the name. “Who was Aquila Black?”

“One of our distant American cousins,” Sirius says, waving a hand. “My dear old mum didn’t have much taste for them; said they were too vulgar.”

Hermione snorts. 

“So if Ginny didn’t murder anyone --” 

“--I would argue that aborting your unborn children counts,” Sirius says. “Remember, we’re talking about pureblood wizarding traditions, here. Pureblood children are sacred.” 

“--right,” Hermione says. “But still, how did she do it?” 

***

Hermione wanders into the kitchen where Lucky is putting preservation charms on all the food. “Whatever are we going to do with all this?” she asks.

Those that don’t live in the house - and even a few that did, like Dean and Seamus - had cleared out quickly with the fight. There’s not a ginger in sight or hearing, either. 

Lucky sighs. “The boys be hungry often enough that the food will keep. But if Miss Hermione be willing to hear a suggestion…”

“Absolutely!” Lucky’s big ears twitch at her enthusiasm. 

“There be people being hungry and homeless,” Lucky says. “Lucky could be providing some meals, with no one being the wiser.” 

“That is a great suggestion, Lucky, thank you,” Hermione says, eyes narrowed. “However, I think I might have an even better idea. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

Sirius and Harry are both none-too-pleased to be dragged from their respective sulks, but Hermione starts throwing stinging hexes at them until they move. When she herds them into the kitchen and proposes Lucky’s idea - with her twist - both of them start to come around. And that’s how they spend their Christmas Eve handing out hot meals to the homeless around London. It doesn’t exactly cheer up either Sirius or Harry, but it does help. 

As they are wandering back, drinking from a thermos of magically heated hot chocolate, Sirius glances over at Harry. “I’m sorry, Harry.” 

Harry blinks. “What on earth for?”

“I’ve destroyed your relationship with Ginny.” 

Harry leaves a harsh laugh. “No, she did that herself. Though…” 

“Harry?” Hermione prods him after a few moments. 

“She said she got the idea from Tom,” he says slowly. “I think that perhaps she was more affected by his possession back then than we ever realized.” 

“Please don’t tell me that evil git is still a threat,” Sirius says, alarmed. 

“No, at least not directly. I don’t think he’s possessing her still,” Harry says thoughtfully. “It’s more that he put these ideas into her head back then, sort of hidden. Like timebombs…things set to go off over time. At least, that’s how it seemed when Bill described it.” 

“That makes sense,” Sirius says thoughtfully.

“Which means that Tom fucking Riddle has been manipulating her feelings for me -- if they were ever even real in the first place -- all this time. And I never even noticed.” 

“Harry, no one noticed,” Hermione says gently. “How could anyone have realized?”

“Listen to Hermione,” Sirius says. “She’s always right.” 

“Not always,” Hermione says. 

“Often enough,” Harry says, lifting his lips in some horrible semblance of a smile. “The babies… they weren’t mine. Is it terrible that I’m relieved - and yet I feel betrayed at the same time?” 

“They weren’t yours?” Sirius asks. “Whose were they?” 

Harry laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “One of the Slytherin chasers. Either Vaisey or Harper; maybe both. She’s not sure.” 

“Oh,” Sirius says faintly. He clears his throat. “That’s…”

“The thing is, I knew. I just didn’t want to accept it,” Harry barrels on. “I got a package a while back, and there were pictures. The note was anonymous, but it said, ‘you deserve better.’ I thought they were likely fake, some kind of vicious prank to break up my relationship, but I think I knew even then that they were real. And Ginny, she wants things that I can’t give her.” He clears his throat, looking down. “I don’t think I’m a terrible lay. I tried to give her what she needed, but I wasn’t enough.” 

“There’s a reason the Lazarus Curse is a curse, Harry,” Sirius tell him. “It takes something from

the caster and they will always be trying to find ways to fill the hole it left.”

“But this all - she did this before she cast the curse.” 

“Not if she lost it when Tom possessed her,” Hermione says thoughtfully. She pulls Sirius back to wait for the sign to tell them they can cross. Sirius looks at the empty street pointedly, which Hermione ignores. “You did say she was all but dead in the chamber when you got there, right?” 

Harry blinks. “Well, yes, but not completely.” 

“Your body doesn’t die when the dementors suck out your soul,” Sirius says. “It may have been a similar form of transference.” 

“Great. That means I killed off part of her soul when I stabbed the diary,” Harry says bitterly. 

“And if you hadn’t, she would have lost all her soul, not just a part of it,” Sirius says with some asperity. “This isn’t your fault.” 

“And it’s not yours, either,” Harry says firmly. “Maybe that’s the worst part of all this. Because I didn’t ask her to do this, yet I can’t bring myself to regret that she did. Not when the result is you, standing here. And the terrible truth is that I need you more than I love her, though I’ll always be grateful. And resentful at the same time, for putting me in this position. What kind of selfish monster does that make me?” 

Sirius puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Not a monster, Harry. Merely human.” 

#### July 1997, The Burrow

Hermione is glad that the twins live above their shop these days. They’re still there often enough, however, to make things awkward, especially as they’ve joined the Order, so they’re often at meetings. 

Mrs. Weasley has tried to keep Ron from joining the Order, and when that didn’t stop him, tried to come up with ways to keep them both too busy to be of any use to the Order. 

Hermione, heart hurting from obliviating her parents, can understand the impulse to protect her family, but she has to summon every ounce of patience she has to deal with the endless progression of chores that Molly is throwing at everyone. 

Then again, keeping busy does keep her from thinking too much. 

Things get even worse when they go retrieve Harry and George gets injured. He’s out of commission for a couple of days, though he delights in having his siblings wait on him, and he basks in the way Fleur dotes on him. 

To be fair, Fleur does George a lot of good by saying, “You are almost as ‘andsome as my Bill, and now ze girls will see zat you are very brave, too.” 

It brightens up something that had gone dull in George’s eyes. It affected both twins, really. 

“She’s got strange taste, that one,” Fred says as Hermione helps him clear out several boxes in the attic, her petrificus totalis holding off the ghoul while he sifts through some of the contents. “Clearly, I’m more handsome.”

He hands her a large silver platter, dented and tarnished. “Think that’s what mum was looking for?” 

“Part of it,” Hermione says. “She wanted the tea set with the bluebells on them, too, remember?” 

Fred sneezes, then curses. 

“You’re the beauty, George is the brains,” Hermione agrees cheerfully. 

“You didn’t see the way he was tripping over himself trying to impress Katie Bell the other day. Oh, wow, I think that’s Ginny’s baby blanket. Ugh, it smells like nappies and spit up. Whoever said that babies smell good were clearly mental. Babies don’t smell good. They smell like shit, piss and milk.” 

Hermione snorts. “It’s probably some kind of mothering instinct,” she says. 

He stands up quickly and bumps his head, cursing.

“Let me see,” she orders. 

His head is fine, but she realizes how close they’re standing a moment after he does. She bites her lip. Losing Moody and George’s ear has impressed upon her that with the times they are facing, she’d rather not have any regrets. 

“Listen, Fred,” she begins. 

He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Don’t. It’s -- we’re good, Hermione.” 

“Promise?” 

He opens his eyes again. He’s even closer now. “Promise.” 

She’s not sure who really makes the first move, but she just knows that she’s missed the feel of his arms wrapped around her and his lips on hers. 

They break the kiss when the ghoul groans. Hermione recasts the spell without looking, her eyes locked on Fred’s. 

“I can’t do that again,” he says softly. “Especially not now, not when Ron’s finally starting to get a clue.” 

“Ron and I aren’t --” 

“Yes, you are. And what’s more, I know that the three of you have something planned. Go watch Harrikin’s back. He’s going to need it.” 

She can’t really argue with that, so she steps back and nods, biting her lip. 

They find the bluebell tea set and send them downstairs with a flick of their wands. Hermione lets the spell go on the ghoul as they leave the attic and watches Fred greet Bill cheerfully on the landing for a moment, then ducks into Ginny’s room to take a break before Mrs. Weasley hands her the next set of chores. 

Ginny’s in her room lying on her bed, reading a quidditch magazine in a vest and knickers. A warm breeze sets the curtains to fluttering and the air carries the faint set of salt on it. 

“I wager I have about five more minutes before mum calls me for the next set of chores,” Ginny says, sighing. “I’m never having a wedding.” 

“You wouldn’t marry Harry if he asked you?” Hermione teases. 

“Oh, I’m going to marry him,” Ginny says. “But we’re going to elope.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Hermione says. 

Downstairs, there’s a loud noise and the sound of Mrs. Weasley scolding. 

Ginny tilts her head to the side. “Ron,” she declares. 

“Not Fred or George?”

“No, that one is definitely Ron. Probably shoving food in his face, the glutton.” 

Hermione sighs. 

“Now when you two get married, you’re going to have to put a spell on the cupboards to keep him from eating you out of house and home.” 

“You assume I won’t kill him before we manage to get to the altar.” 

Ginny laughs, but she trails off. 

“Do you love him?” 

“Who?” Hermione asks. 

“Ron, of course!” 

“Oh.” Hermione thinks about it, and about the past year. She’d had a few weeks of jealousy over him when he and Lavender were deep in the throes of their relationship, but after he’d almost died and Harry had saved him with the bezoar, he’d forgotten about Lav-Lav soon enough. 

Lavender had been broken-hearted for about a week before pouncing on her next victim, though she’d glared daggers at Hermione for weeks. 

“I can’t even begin to think about relationships at this point,” Hermione says, trying not to show her discomfort “Not while this is all going on.” 

“So you’re not planning on running off with him, then?” Ginny asks, voice aiming for playful but clearly failing. 

“What? No,” Hermione says. 

“So then why are you packing so much stuff away in your bag?” Ginny asks. 

Hermione looks down at her bedspread. “Ginny…” 

Ginny sighs and sits up, grabbing a pair of denim shorts. “I best go see if mum needs help.” 

Hermione watches her go. She gets Ginny’s frustration, but she’s not seventeen. Even if Mrs. Weasley was letting Ginny out of her sight long enough to go, the trace on her wand would make Ginny far more of a liability than an asset. 

***

Fred looks amazing in his suit. Hermione wishes she could dance with him at the wedding, but between Krum and Ron and all the other stuff going on, she doesn’t get a chance. 

She watches he and George disappear with a gaggle of Fleur’s cousins and swallows back the pang of jealousy. Fred was right; it’s not the time for this. She has to watch Harry’s back. 

#### February 1999, Glasgow

Hermione is really not sure she wants to go to this party, but Harry can be a right manipulative, sneaky bastard at times.

“It’s just going to be quidditch talk all night,” she grumbles. Harry rolls his eyes and hauls her through the door into Oliver Wood’s flat. 

And, okay, so being keeper for Puddlemere has its perks. It’s not so much a flat as a loft. There is a whole wall that is nothing but windows floor to ceiling, overlooking a truly amazing view of Glasgow’s architecture. 

The building is clearly employing wizarding space, as Oliver’s rather spacious flat is much wider than it would be possible in muggle physics. 

Harry and Hermione are greeted by several people right away and Cho swings by to take their coats while Oliver thrusts some bottles into their hands. Katie Bell makes a beeline for Harry, dragging him off for a conversation. 

Hermione wanders through the loft, nibbling on a bit of food and chatting with people she hasn’t seen for at least a couple of years. Most of this group are a bit older than she and Harry. 

Ron and the rest of the Weasleys haven’t been out and about much lately, so she’s happy to see the twins in conversation on the couch with a group of people she doesn’t know. 

She notices that there does seem to be slightly more women than men, and that the girls all tend to be blonde and overdressed. Hermione had opted for a comfortable dress that flatters her slim waist and gives a little oomph to her breasts. It’s nice, but it’s not quite as minimalist as these girls are wearing. Or not. 

Hermione’s just started to get bored and run out of polite conversation when Blaise arrives. She greets him with relief. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you.” 

Blaise just grins. “My mates asked me to come out with them tonight. You remember Adrian Pucey and Terrence Higgs, right?” 

She does, vaguely, mostly from them playing on the Slytherin quidditch team, but also because Adrian has always stood out, being one of the most attractive of the boys at Hogwarts. Terrence had spent a fair bit of time in the library, studying, she recalls. 

“Did you ever meet Hermione?” Blaise asks them. 

“Not formally,” Terrence says, taking her hand and kissing it. “But I’ve had a raging crush on you since you flattened Malfoy’s nose.” 

Hermione laughs, even as she blushes. “Well, that was truly my pleasure. But why did it please you?”

“Malfoy’s daddy bribing Flint with the brooms was the reason Higgs got booted from the seeker position,” Adrian says. “Can’t say I liked playing on the same team with that little twit.” 

“Well, I’m glad to have provided you with some degree of satisfaction,” Hermione tells them. 

She gets caught up in a conversation with Terrence and Adrian, barely noticing when Blaise wanders off. Both guys prove to be engaging and passionate about their business, which they’ve developed and built together. 

At some point, Fred and George join the conversation, greeting Adrian and Terrence as old friends. 

“Terrance and Adrian have been doing some advertising work for us,” Fred says, which sparks a conversation about muggle advertising vs. wizarding advertising. 

“See, that’s the problem,” Adrian explains. “Muggles come up with brilliant products, but half their advertising is rubbish.” 

“And have you seen a lot of muggle advertising then?” Hermione asks. 

“Well, yes,” Adrian says, blinking. “My mum’s a muggle. I grew up with a telly and all the fun stuff. My dad’s been more than happy to raise me in the best of both worlds. In fact, that’s sort of been my philosophy with our business. I want to take some of the inspiration from the muggle world and incorporate it into some of our campaigns. Maybe even down the road, start doing some work in the muggle world.”

“It’s a sound business investment,” Terrence puts in. “After this past few years, we started realizing just how dangerous it is to have our eggs all in one basket, so to speak.”

“Of course, we have to be careful to maintain the Statute of Secrecy and all,” Adrian adds. “Hey, you know, you and Harry should come in and do some shoots with us.” 

“We call dibs,” Fred says immediately. “Harry’s a silent partner so he has to endorse our products, and Hermione thinks our patented daydream charms are brilliant. She said so.” 

“I did and they are,” Hermione says. She grins wickedly. “Especially that one about taming the dragon tamer.”

Fred looks mildly aggrieved while George cackles.

“Working your way through all the Weasley brothers then?” Blaise asks, his eyes twinkling. It sounds like an insult, but she’s been around Blaise long enough that she’s starting to understand how his mind works, so it doesn’t bother her. 

“Can you blame a girl for trying?” 

“Not at all,” Blaise declares. He eyeballs George. “Though I might have to claim this one before you get to him.”

“They’re identical, having one’s the same as having the other,” some girl says, causing George and Fred to protest loudly. Hermione notices, however, that George is not protesting when Blaise leans into him. In fact, he slings his arm around Blaise’s waist, eyes flicking down and up again, checking him out. 

The twins wander off, Blaise in tow, and Terrence gets caught up in a conversation with Cho and Oliver. Hermione isn’t sure how she ends up seated in a corner chair, arm brushing Adrian’s as they chat, but she’s not minding it. She doesn’t notice the time pass and the party start to thin out until someone drops a glass and someone else starts exclaiming out something. 

She and Adrian look up to see that two of the blonde twits she noted earlier have gotten down on their knees and they’re giving head to Oliver’s teammates. 

“Well then, I think that’s my cue to find Harry and head out,” Hermione says. But when she spots Harry, she changes her mind, as he has Katie in his lap and they are snogging pretty heavily. Both still have clothes on, but it doesn’t look like they will for long. 

She doesn’t know where the twins have got off to, and Cho and Oliver are both starting to clear out things. Hermione thinks about offering them a hand, but then one of the guys getting head gives a particularly loud moan and she thinks better of it. 

“Mind if I apparate you home?” Adrian asks. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise.” 

Hermione takes his hand. “I’ll do the apparating, since I know where I’m going, but if you’re up for a cup of tea, I’m game.” 

Adrian’s whole face lights up and he holds his hand out to her. “I am absolutely down for a cup of tea.” 

#### March 1999, London

She and Adrian are better friends than anything else, which is fine by her. He’s incredibly attractive and a decent lover, but she’s not looking for anything serious right now. Hermione is too driven in her studies and he’s too driven in his advertising; it should be a match made in heaven, but there’s not much in the way of chemistry between them.

Still, he’s fun and she’s happy to have made friends of both him and Terrence. It’s because of that friendship that she has agreed to at least sit down for some preliminary ad ideas, though this is not for Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, but for a non-profit that Hermione likes designed to help muggleborn students integrate better into wizarding society. It’s Blaise’s idea, one that Hermione is surprised to discover he’s working with Sirius, Harry and the Weasley twins to put into effect. 

The idea for the shoot is that it will take a page from Charlie’s idea of pairing up wizard-born kids and muggleborn kids and adapting it to adulthood.

“The idea is how two opposing things can in fact be complementary,” Adrian tells them. “Things that you think wouldn’t go together that absolutely do. We’ll be working with color combinations and objects in the background design, but playing that into the pairings as well. 

Adrian gets a wicked grin on his face when she asks him who she’s being paired with. When Fred comes in, Hermione groans. 

“Hello to you too, Hermione. What have I done to earn that particularly pained expression?” 

“Nothing, Fred, it is, in this case, utterly Adrian’s fault.” 

“Blaise’s really,” Adrian says. “Still, he’s absolutely correct: the two of you do make a great contrast of opposites. Muggleborn and pureblood, your dark skin against his fair hair and freckles, his jokester side to your serious side.”

“But we’re both absolute geniuses,” Fred says. 

“I want to play with the idea that Hermione tempers your impulsive side, while you offer her a little more spontaneity.” 

“Is that why you had me bring the wheezes?” 

“Yes,” Adrian says, grinning. “I want you to be working together on the project, heads bent together for one set. Another would be great to have you guys playfully fighting - him trying to light a firework and you trying to stop him, but with the final part being the twist that you set it on fire yourself.”

Hermione shrugs. “Let’s give it a try.” 

At first, Hermione feels self-conscious, but soon, Fred is telling jokes and has her in stitches half the time. They’re also working on something real; Fred decided to take the opportunity presented and actually pick her brain for some ideas. Hermione adds a playful element to the wheeze, barely noticing how close they’re sitting while they work. 

An hour in and she’s forgotten the camera entirely. Fred has loosened up his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves while she’s tossed her cardigan over the back of her chair. His hair stands on end where he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes are shining at her. 

“Alright, let’s test it.” 

He reaches out to grab it and she holds it out of his reach, or tries to, anyway. He crowds her space, gets his hand on the toy and one on her waist, smirking at her. It’s like muscle memory, she thinks, the way his proximity like this reminds her of all the ways they’d been close. Her body remembers; she tries to stifle the reaction but his hand tightens, fingers pressing against her and she sees her desire echoed in his eyes. 

They ease back from each other and Fred twirls her, a playful spontaneous dance, but the tone is different. There is a serious glint in his eyes. 

Adrian clears his throat, bringing her attention back to him. She flushes a little, but Adrian seems more amused than anything. “I think we’re just about done for the day,” he tells them. “All we have left is the firecracker.” 

They play out the scene Adrian had in mind, but it feels a little more stiff in comparison to the rest of the day. Later, as she’s walking with Adrian back to his flat, he confirms that he’ll likely use the other photographs he’d taken. 

“I doubt anyone could express doubt about how the two of you could work once they see those,” he adds. “Hermione, you and Fred…”

She shakes her head. “I think there will always be something between us, but I think that ship has sailed.” 

“Why do you say that?” Adrian asks. “He’s single, you’re single.” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

Adrian raises an eyebrow but after a few moments, he sighs. “No. It never is.” He bumps her arm. “But if you were ever interested in a threesome with him and me, I’d be down.” 

Hermione smacks his arm, laughing. “Why Mr. Pucey, how very shocking of you!” 

They walk another block in an easy silence. Diagon Alley is finally starting to reach its pre-war hustle and bustle, with Ollivanders opening up. The ice cream shop is open again, this time by a nephew of Florian’s. There is a touching memorial plaque next to the door acknowledging the loss of Florian and many others to the war, but life is starting to go on almost a year after. 

“Would you really want a menage-a-trois?” Hermione asks. She’s not sure how she feels about it. It’s a bit much, really, but on the other hand, two attractive blokes…

Would they forget about her and make her feel left out? Or would she feel too sleazy to enjoy it? She’s honestly not sure. 

“I’ve had a bit of a thing for you for years, Hermione. I wasn’t lying about that. And to be honest, I’ve had a few fantasies about Fred and George, too. They’re both quite fit.” 

She looks up at him. “It has its appeal, of course, as a fantasy,” she says after a few moments. “I just wonder how reality could possibly measure up. Only, it would be rather awkward, wouldn’t it?” 

Adrian smiles and takes her hand, pulling her toward his door. “It could, but then, I’ve found that sex is always taken a bit too seriously for something that’s meant to be fun. If you don’t want to do it, you know that’s absolutely okay, right?” 

“Of course!” she says.

“And it’s perfectly okay to want to try it, too,” Adrian adds firmly. “I’m not ashamed of my desires and no one else should be either, so long as it’s between consenting adults.” 

“What a concept,” she says dryly, but she appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. 

“So why don’t you come up and tell me some of your fantasies, then?” Adrian says, smirking. “Preferably in the altogether?”

“I think I have some time before I must get back,” Hermione says, smiling. “It’s not enough time to cover all my fantasies, of course, but perhaps one or two.” 

“I guess I’ll just have to make do until I see you next,” he says, sighing dramatically. “Race you up the stairs.” 

Hermione watches him take off, then apparates. 

“What,” she asks when he comes in the door a minute later, breathing hard. “You didn’t think I was going to take all those stairs, did you?” 

He leers at her, draped on his couch in little more than a few pieces of lace and silk. They’re not her usual undergarments, but she’d decided to have a little fun today. “You’re a dirty rotten cheater but I can’t complain about the view.” 

“Yes, well, now that you’ve seen them, I can’t wait to get them off,” she says. “They itch and keep pinching in places that were never meant to be pinched.” 

“So pinching isn’t one of your kinks,” Adrian says, his tie landing on the mantle. “Got it.” 

She watches him undress and lets him claim her knickers and bra before she wraps her limbs around him and pulls him down to her. “Now, about those fantasies…”

***

Her education, always her first priority, becomes her life over the next few weeks. She draws up a timetable, changing it several times, then makes up one for most of her friends. Blaise looks down at his, bemused, but Millicent holds up her own. She and Hermione compare notes. 

It’s only once she’s washing her face before bed that she realizes how much her her group of friends has expanded. Hermione smiles at the mirror, which compliments her on her natural glow, and heads off to bed, trying to clear her mind of all the Arithmancy she’d studied that evening. Tomorrow, she’d spend a few hours on studying ancient runes. As part of her final project for the course, she has to create a new rune sequence to activate a spell. 

Of course, first she has to figure out an appropriate spell. That’s the subject of their class on Wednesday. 

“If everyone has to create one, there must be thousands of rune sequences,” Blaise says.

“While many of the rune sequences would work, theoretically, we don’t test most of them out,” Professor Babbling says. “It’s a chance to be creative and have a bit of fun, while also forcing you to think and research what would work best for whatever spellcasting you’re thinking of. Most go for something highly unusual.” 

“You know who is a genius at rune sequencing?” Blaise asks as they leave the classroom. 

Millicent and Hermione exchange amused looks. “George,” they say in unison. 

Blaise glares at them half-heartedly. “Well, he is,” he says.

“It’s true,” Hermione admits. “Which is beyond infuriating given that he never took the course or revised or anything. He just, ‘read the book once.’ His words.” 

“He’s brilliant,” Blaise says. “Also, Granger, if Fred is half as good in bed as his twin, then I feel we may have to revoke your title of “brightest witch” or whatever it was Dumbledore called you.” 

Hermione sighs. “There is more to a relationship than sex, Blaise. There’s love and communication and mutual respect.” 

“George communicates really well. With his tongue,” Millicent says. She and Blaise grin at each other.

“Wait, have you both slept with him?” 

Blaise shrugs. “Threesomes are a thing.” 

“Apparently.” A sudden thought occurs to Hermione and she stops walking. Millie and Blaise stop and turn toward her. “Did you mention this to Adrian?” 

“It might have come up,” Blaise says. “A time or two.” He grabs her gently by the elbow, steering her out of the way of some Ravenclaws talking animatedly as they hurry past toward the Great Hall. 

Millicent snorts. “I’m sure it has, love.” 

“You two are ridiculous,” Hermione says. They stop again at an intersection between the South Corridor and the stairwell to the towers and wait for a gaggle of first years to pass, talking excitedly as they head for the fourth floor. 

“Everyone I know is constantly thinking or talking about or having sex,” Hermione says. “It’s apparently not enough to have sex with one person, now we’ve got to all be banging in groups?” 

“The more, the merrier,” Blaise says. “And most of the time I’m fine with it being just George and I. Sometimes, it’s just Millie and George.”

“But it’s never just you and me,” Millie says thoughtfully. “It would be weird somehow.” 

Blaise nods. “It’s odd, isn’t it? I’ve been balls deep inside you a few times and yet it’s only if someone else is there with us.” 

Hermione stares at them, shaking her head. “I don’t understand the way you two work.” 

“Not many people do,” Blaise says cheerfully. “But as long as you don’t try to change us, that’s perfectly okay.” 

#### May 2, 1999, Grimmauld Place

“There’s something I’ve always wondered,” Hermione says, sitting down next to the twins. “How did you figure out the code to open the Marauder’s Map?”

Fred looks up, surprised, but it’s George who answers. “A bit of trial and error had us trying different phrases. It would insult us if we failed, but the insults were creative.” 

“After a bit, we noticed it reacting to certain words and phrases.” 

“We knew it had to be something good,” George continues. “Not only because we nicked it from Filch’s cabinets marked Highly Dangerous, but because it would flash little hints on occasion.” 

“Then there was that time we fell asleep,” Fred adds, looking at George. “We both woke up swearing we’d heard it talking to us.” 

“Felt like I dreamt the phrase,” George concurs. He looks uneasy. “I’ve sort of wondered, after finding out who Wormtail was, if it wasn’t him sneaking a look at it or something.”

Fred shudders. “Knowing that dirty piece of shite was living in our home, sleeping in our rooms, likely sneaking around…”

Sirius speaks up from where he’s lying on the couch in the corner. Hermione had almost forgotten he was there; and given the way the twins startle, they had too. 

“I had a lot of time to hate him, in Azkaban. But these last few months, I’ve been thinking about all those times back then. Did we misjudge him so badly?”

“I’ve always wondered how he got put into Gryffindor,” Ron says. “Sneaky little rat.” 

“Pete was brave, at times.” Sirius sits up slowly, swinging his feet around to rest on the floor. He looks up at them. “Granted, he wasn’t as reckless as the rest of us, and he had a sycophantic streak that used to drive me batty, especially to James. And he despised Lily, especially when she and James started dating.”

“Do you think he was jealous?” Hermione asked. 

Sirius blinks, then cocks his head to the side, considering. 

“I never really thought about it, then, but honestly, it’s possible. Remus said something before I went into the veil, about how Pete could never decide if he wanted James, or if he wanted to be James.” 

“Well, he certainly was no James,” Ron says, looking at Harry. 

Sirius smiles, shaking his head. “No, that he certainly wasn’t. We were all gits at times. Remus was the best of all of us, but even he had his moments. But James... James was the first one to see past his nose and the world of Hogwarts. He saw Lily, and a future, and he went after it. He grew up.”

“Why did you hate him so much?” Harry asks. 

Sirius sits back, sighing. He thinks for a moment before answering. 

“Sniv--Snape was drawn to the very things that I hated about my family and about myself,” Sirius says softly. “And I’m still not sure he didn’t have a hand in persuading my brother to take the mark. But that, that was after the lines were already drawn. James hated him because he was jealous. Lily was friends with Snape, after all, and she didn’t like James and I from the first time we met. Not that I blame her, not these days.”

“Who started it?” Hermione asks. “James, or you?” 

“Snape did, actually,” Sirius says. “Lily didn’t see that part; she only saw the part where James hexed him in retaliation. But Snape made a snide comment about Alice - your mum,” he says, nodding to Neville. “She was a year older, already sorted in Gryffindor, and Snape hated Gryffindors before he ever got to Hogwarts.” 

“I wonder why,” Hermione murmurs. 

“I don’t know,” Sirius says. “All I know is that from the time we stepped foot on the train, Snape was the enemy, and it just grew from there.” 

“And he hated you because you rejected the very things he craved,” Adrian speaks up from her side. Hermione starts, looking over at him. 

He grins at their surprised looks. “You pick up on a lot of things in the dungeons. He was my Head of House for seven years, after all, and I am a half-blood, like him.” 

“The problem with the sorting,” Neville says contemplatively, “Isn’t that we sort too soon. It’s that we sort at all. Gryffindor is meant to stand for bravery, but it’s just as often reckless; our honesty is all too often used to hurt instead of help. Ravenclaw have a love of knowledge, but they also horde it and think they’re smarter than everyone else - and Merlin forbid a Ravenclaw can’t keep up with a particular subject. Look at Luna.” 

“Slytherin is about cunning, but Crabbe and Goyle and the like, they weren’t cunning at all,” Ron says. 

Adrian snorts. “No, the problem with sorting is that instead of looking at the qualities we should cultivate in ourselves, the sorting hat places us where we want to be.”

“So would that make the muggleborn kids with no clue more likely to get sorted honestly?” Neville asks. 

Harry shakes his head. “The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I’d already encountered Malfoy, so I said anything but. It put me in Gryffindor.” 

“So the hat puts us where we want to be - or at least where we think we should be,” Hermione says. “I wanted to be thought of as brave, like a character in a book going off to this strange new world.” 

“The thing is, we develop the qualities we find important, right?” Sirius says. “I hated the way my dear mother would manipulate us, playing Reg and I against each other and all her poisonous social games, so instead of developing the cunning, I chose the opposite - brash, angry, reckless. But there’s a wide body of traits that fall under each House, though we only think of one or two each. Pete hated being seen as a coward, but he was only brash and brave when he had someone watching.” 

“Or standing between him and his target,” Harry adds. 

“That doesn’t make him brave, that makes him a bully,” Hermione says. 

“Well, we all were bullies,” Sirius says with clear regret in his voice. “We were young, stupid wankers.” 

“Most teenagers are, though,” Charlie says. “Not all, but definitely some.” 

“Dudley’s last words to me were kind of nice,” Harry says. “Some people grow out of it, like him and my dad and you, Sirius. Others, like my uncle...not so much.” 

“I don’t know when Pete turned dark,” Sirius says heavily. “If it was always there and we just didn’t see it because he was our mate, or if something caused it. Maybe he felt abandoned after we left school, I don’t know. He always needed someone to follow, though, and when James got preoccupied with Lily and the auror program, and then later, with Harry, I guess that left a vacuum.” 

“It’s strange that he didn’t transfer his affections to you,” Fred says. 

“Nah, he was a little wary of Remus and I.” 

“Maybe it’s not such a surprise that he hid with a large family,” Hermione says. 

She looks at the twins, Charlie and Ron sitting with them. “Hiding in a crowd of people who wouldn’t notice him as much with everything else going on. Coming back to Hogwarts and staying in a dorm again…” 

“I suppose it was just like old times,” Sirius says with a brief, bitter bark of laughter. “Hiding in the tower sleeping, while the rest of us do the hard work.” 

“He got his in the end,” Harry says. “And while I can’t ever bring myself to want anyone to suffer, I don’t lose sleep at night over his death.” 

“You and me both, mate,” Ron says feelingly. He looks at the twins. “You had the map for years. Why didn’t you tell me there was a strange man sleeping in my bed!” 

Fred shrugs. “Never saw it. We didn’t care what was happening in your dorms; it was the girls’ dorms that interested us.” 

“Those were difficult to map,” Sirius says. “We finally got up into the girls’ towers by flying on our brooms.” 

“As long as your feet don’t touch the floor,” George agrees, grinning, “it’s virtually undetectable.” 

Hermione huffs at that, crossing her arms. 

“Don’t worry, Hermione, we only went when invited,” Fred says.

“And that was mostly to talk quidditch,” George adds. 

“And occasionally boys.” 

“Oh yes, definitely boys,” George agrees. 

“There was that time with the potion,” Fred says, looking at George.

“But that was only one time.”

“But there was when we nicked the Bulbadox powder.” 

“I thought you used that on Kenneth Towler,” Ron says, confused. “I always wondered why.” 

“Good question, that,” George says. “I never asked.” They all look at Fred expectantly. 

“Made a comment about our sister that didn’t bear repeating,” Fred says. 

Adrian squeezes Hermione’s hand. “I think I should be heading off soon. Walk me to the door?” 

She smiles and stands up with him. “Thank you for going to the ceremony with me. It meant a lot.” 

“It meant a lot that you asked me to,” Adrian says, giving her hand a kiss, then pulling her in closer. 

She’s barely closed the door behind him when Fred and George come out, followed by Charlie. They’re pulling on their raincoats, chatting about dragon heartstring elasticity. 

“I’m heading back to the castle,” Charlie tells her. “Are you coming back tonight? I can wait for you and walk back from the apparition point.” 

“That would be grand,” she tells him. “I just need to grab a few things and say goodbye to the others. Five minutes?” 

He nods, so she gives the twins both hugs goodbye, squeezing Fred’s arm before she’s rushing off to grab her bag and say her farewells. 

The walk back from the gates to the castle is spent in companionable silence. Hermione is grateful for Charlie’s presence as they walk past the various memorials and vigils happening where so many people were lost. The grounds are lit up with candles and bluebell flames where people had fallen. 

“How are you holding up?” she asks as they near the gate. 

Charlie glances over with a small, sad smile. “It’s been a long day.” 

Hermione agrees. There have been various ceremonies and gatherings all day. She’s listened to so many other people tell their stories and each one has broken her heart a little more all over again. 

“Sometimes, I think I’m healing, moving on,” Charlie adds. 

“But then, someone will say or do something, and I miss my little brother all over again. And Tonks, too. She was my mate, you know? We weren’t as close once I went off to study dragons, but she was a friend.” 

Hermione nods. “Most of the time, I’ve been fine around here. I avoid certain parts of the castle, but the rebuilding last summer helped. But today, I’m really glad I spent most of it elsewhere.” 

“I took the teaching job here for the year because I was sort of hoping that, if Percy stayed on as a ghost, I’d see him here. I suppose if he were to haunt anywhere, though, it’d be the Ministry.” 

Hermione pats Charlie on the arm. He makes a noise in his throat and pulls her into a hug. She wraps her arms around him while he cries, sniffling into her hair. 

It’s over quickly; he steps away and swipes his thumb over his eyes. “Sorry,” he says thickly. 

“Don’t apologize,” she says, dabbing at her own wet eyes. “There’s no shame in crying.” 

“No, I just meant, sorry I grabbed you like that.” 

“Oh,” she laughs a little. “I didn’t mind it. I kind of needed a hug myself.”

“And after final exams, we’re both on to new things,” Hermione adds. “Your job at the Welsh reserve and mine at the Ministry.” 

“You’ll be brilliant, setting all kinds of new reforms for the betterment of magical creatures and folk alike.” 

“And you’ll be happy with your dragons. But please, please take care of yourself with them.” 

“Thanks,” he says and leaves her by the portal to the tower with a wave. “See you tomorrow, Miss Granger.” 

She smiles. “See you tomorrow, Professor Weasley.”

#### June 1999, London

Hermione steps off the Hogwarts Express for the final time. She and the others are a bit nostalgic, given that this is the last of their lasts - they are now officially done with school. 

Hermione is still fretting over her NEWTs exam answers, but she’s aware (and has been reminded several times) that she has done her best and it is now out of her hands. 

“I don’t know why you get so stressed out about this,” Dean says, shrugging. “We all know you passed with flying colors.” 

She looks around the platform at the families there to pick up their children and has a pang of missing her parents. But she doesn’t have time to sink into a funk; Sirius is there, along with the Weasley twins (though they are there mostly to greet Charlie, who rode back with them on the train) and Harry. 

Neville and Hannah are off to visit Nev’s gran and Hannah’s father, but Blaise, Seamus and Dean join the rest of them in apparating back to Grimmauld place. 

“Not off to see Adrian?” George asks her, Blaise tucked into his side. 

Hermione shakes her head. “Nah. He’s been pretty busy lately, and I want to spend time with my family.” She laughs as Sirius bounds in for a noisy kiss to her forehead before bounding right back to Seamus and Dean, not missing a beat in their conversation. Even in human form, Sirius is like an excited mutt, ready to play fetch. 

“I heard he was out with another girl last week,” Seamus says. “Are you two still dating?” 

“We were never really dating,” Hermione says. “We’re just friends. I keep telling you all that.” 

They shuffle into the house. Hermione takes her trunk to her room and immediately starts unpacking, waving off the elf’s offers of assistance. He eyes her with some confusion, but then shrugs and heads down the hall to offer his assistance to the boys. 

“They be needing it more, anyway,” he says.

Hermione lays all of her clothes out on her bed, re-folding any that got wrinkled. She is , interrupted yet again when Padfoot comes bounding in and up on the bed, knocking over a pile of robes. 

“Padfoot, bad dog,” she protests, but only half-heartedly. He’s holding a plastic frisbee in his jaws. She’d given it to him as a joke, but he’d been delighted by it in both dog and human form. 

“We’ll go to the park and play catch after I’m done with this,” she tells him. 

Harry pokes his head in and eyes Padfoot. “He’s missed you.” 

Hermione smiles while she folds puts her clothes away with a flick of her wand. 

“But I didn’t,” Harry declares. 

“You’re a dirty liar, Harry James Potter.” 

He laughs. “I know. And despite the fact that I only saw you last week, I did miss you.” 

Sirius bounds across the street to the park and they play fetch for about a half hour before he looks around and changes back to human form. He flops on the grass, sighing and looks over at her. Hermione hands him a bottle of water and waits for him to finish drinking. 

It says a lot about how far they’ve come that she doesn’t have to say a word before he starts talking. “Did Harry tell you about the quidditch tryouts?” 

“No,” Hermione says. 

“Oh. Well, pretend to be surprised when he does, then. He’s got a tryout with the Magpies next week.” 

“If he gets it, he’ll be traveling a lot,” Hermione says, watching Sirius. “Does that bother you?” 

He plucks a piece of grass, staring at it intensely. “Yes and no. Everyone is moving on. Growing up, graduating. Having non-relationships with Slytherins…” 

Hermione sighs. “You aren’t giving me grief about Adrian again, are you?”

Sirius smirks. “No. You’re an adult, Hermione, and as far as men go, you could do much worse than Pucey. His dad was always neutral. It was a bit of a shock when he married a muggle-born, though. He wasn’t ever mean, but he did hang around some of the rougher blokes of the neutral families.” 

“So what’s really bothering you about all of this?” 

“I feel stalled,” Sirius says. He laughs bitterly. “Merlin, do you remember how I chomped at the bit to get out of that blasted house before the veil? And now, I hide in there, or occasionally in muggle London, and I don’t do anything. I talk to you all, and I read and I drink, and I listen to music, and that’s about it.” 

“When’s the last time you did magic?” Hermione asks. “Aside from turning into Padfoot?” 

Sirius won’t look at her. 

“Sirius…” 

“Probaby about a month,” he admits. “It just doesn’t feel right.” 

“So what do you think the best solution is?” Hermione asks him. 

“I think I need to get laid,” Sirius says. He looks at her and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you agree?”

“You’re not asking me to do it, are you?” she asks. “I mean, Siri, you’re attractive, but...you’re my dad’s age.” 

“And proper Hermione would never fuck a man her dad’s age?” 

She looks at him closely, eyes narrowed. “You’re not actually serious -- scratch that, forget I said that. You’re having me on, aren’t you?” 

He laughs, but she knows he’s picked up on her discomfort. “Hermione, how many people have you actually had sex with?” 

“Four,” she says. 

“Fred, Ron, Adrian… is it another Weasley? Because you might want to space them out a bit more, or you’ll have used them all up before you’re thirty.” 

“Sirius!” She smacks his shoulder. 

“Ow!” He laughs, though, rolling back over out of her reach. 

“I had a fling in Spain when I was there that summer, after the veil.” 

“An older man?” 

“Yes. It was… overwhelming.” 

Sirius looks at her more somberly. “Did he hurt you?” 

Hermione shakes her head. “No. In fact, in many ways, it was good for me. I was hurting over Fred, despite that being my fault, and this really attractive Frenchman gave me the right attention. It made me feel good, even when I was…” she glances at his face and reconsiders her words before they escape her mouth. “Not scared, because it wasn’t like that. Nervous. I felt like a child, compared to him.” 

“You were a child.”

Hermione shrugs a shoulder at that. “I was in a bit over my head,” she admits. “I think, looking back, that entire year was me feeling in over my head. And after you went through the veil...I’d thought seeing Cedric dead was a shock, but then you died, too. And the worst thing about it was that Harry was hurting, and I couldn’t do anything about it. You shouldn’t have died, Sirius. You shouldn’t have been there.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“It kind of is. I was reckless and overconfident.” 

“You were also, for all intents and purposes, imprisoned again in a house that was almost as miserable for you as Azkaban, perhaps,” she counters. “Also, the biggest thing I learned from that year was that even Professor Dumbledore could make mistakes. He shouldn’t have kept Harry in the dark all year. And he should have had someone besides Snape try to teach Harry occlumency.” 

“It’s easy to look back and see what we should have done,” Sirius says heavily. “But we can only learn from our mistakes and move on. Which brings me back to my little problem. I can’t seem to move on.” 

She glances at him. “You weren’t actually propositioning me, were you?” 

“Merlin, no. Hermione, I think of you as the closest thing I have to a daughter. That’s part of what I’ve been thinking about. I want a family. I’m not as young as I once was, but I’m still young enough to find a witch and settle down. Only, why would someone want me? I’m a convict --” 

“--wrongly imprisoned.” 

“--And something of a man-child. I have no career, no prospects. I’m psychologically fucked. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m actually alive.” 

She stares at him. “You’re right. You do need to get laid.” 

He blinks at her his mouth falling open. Then he starts laughing hysterically. “Got any ideas?” 

And that’s how Hermione finds herself trying to play matchmaker for Sirius Black. 

***

“Are you kidding?” Adrian asks her incredulously. “I can get you both into Scales. He’ll get laid in no time flat. Hell, he could have three or four women on him that night, without even leaving the club.”

“I’ve told him it would be easy for him to find a willing partner,” Hermione says. “But wait. What exactly kind of club is Scales, anyway? Is it a gentleman’s club?” 

Adrian shakes his head. “No. It’s simply a place in which beautiful people can fulfill their desires.” 

“And you go there often?” 

“Not very often. Mostly to help out Cass, do some publicity stuff, you know. You saw the shoot I did with Kendra Marshing, didn’t you?” 

“Yes. That was erotic.” 

“That wasn’t even the half of it,” Adrian says. “And the backdrop was at Scales.”

“So how do I get an invitation for Sirius?” 

“Easy,” Adrian says. “I’ll get him one, and you can be my guest anytime you want.” 

The night they choose is a weeknight, though with it being summer, it’s still pretty packed. Hermione has a job already lined up at the Ministry, though she had been offered one with both Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and with Blaise’s company. 

“I think I can do most good from inside the Ministry. So many of our laws need to be reformed,” she says. 

Adrian nods. “You’re going to change the world.” 

Harry gets offered the reserve seeker position for the Magpies. He’s delighted to be able to fly and play quidditch, but mostly just do something fun. 

“It won’t be a real career,” he says. “Just until I figure out what else I want to do and where I can best use my talents. I want a year or two of just not having to worry about anything more critical than catching the snitch.” 

“I don’t blame you,” Hermione tells him. “Just try not to fall off your broom. And don’t get sucked into the Wonky Feint.” 

Harry rolls his eyes, and Hermione grins to herself. 

People with invitations, Hermione learns, get to bypass the lines outside of Scales. “It’s technically both a wizarding and a muggle place, though the two are separated,” he says. “The wizards can go through to the muggle space, but only if they give up their wands.” 

The club, when they get inside, is something of a shock to Hermione. The music is loud, but it’s not overwhelmingly so. Scales’ main room is done with an eye toward classic night clubs, complete with a stage swathed in velvet curtains, though these are purple, not red. There are tasteful bronze accents and the ceiling is set with beautiful tin tiles. The band is playing something in a modern muggle R&B style. 

The bar is well lit and there are several tiers of drinks. They head in that direction and Sirius takes charge, ordering drinks for them all. Instead of staying there, though, Adrian takes them on a tour. 

“There are several rooms to the club,” he says. “This room is mirrored on the other side for the muggles, while they can both see the band as if they’re right in front of them. Then, there are the private balconies and the VIP area. He gestures at the stairs and the second and third floors, where there are railings. 

“There are curtains to pull for privacy, but generally, the people in VIP want to be seen,” Adrian says, rolling his eyes. 

“Then, there are the playrooms, back here.” 

He stops them and with an eye to Hermione, Adrian says, “This is a judgment-free zone. There are a lot of cameras for the muggles and magic devices for the wizarding side. No one comes in here without signing a waiver and no one gets recorded. The cameras are for our security team to ensure the safety of our patrons to the best of our abilities.” 

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly are the playrooms for?” 

Adrian smirks. “Want me to show you?” 

Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. 

“Well I certainly want to see,” Sirius says. 

They both read through and sign the waivers. At the door, there is a box in which they are instructed to leave their wands and any other personal objects they want to ensure are kept safe. 

“You can stay clothed or strip once you’re back here, but there’s a bit of risk involved in losing things that are more valuable to you,” Adrian says. “So we’ve done our best to mitigate that with the safe deposit boxes.” 

They proceed through the first set of doors. The first room has several people in various states of undress. “Most people don’t ever get admitted back here,” Adrian says. “All the people out there? Most of them, even if they wanted to, wouldn’t be able to get in.” 

Hermione looks around, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the frank way in which people are unabashedly hooking up. She recognizes a few of the people in the room, most of them a few years older than she is. As she watches, a woman grasps another woman’s chin and kisses her deeply while their husbands watch avidly. They’re all beautiful or at least striking. 

“Wow,” Hermione says, swallowing. 

“This is just the beginning. We can leave whenever you start to feel uncomfortable.” 

She gestures for him to go on. 

They lose Sirius in the third room to a woman holding out a crop in invitation. She has red lips and dark hair. Sirius seems fascinated by her shiny black boots. He kneels to kiss them at her command. 

“I have just discovered more than I ever wanted to know,” Hermione moans. “I can’t unsee that.” 

Adrian laughs. “Want to head up to the private booth? Or would you like to see the next room?” 

She hurries forward without replying, anxious to get away from the sight of Sirius doing…that.

In the next room, she’s shocked to see Weasley red hair, and immediately turns around again when she realizes it’s George and Blaise. 

“Trust me, I know how hot that is,” she says. “I don’t need to see it in action.” She can feel her cheeks burning. 

Adrian laughs, amused, though he does glance back over his shoulder. “I do have a weakness for the Weasley brothers.” 

“You and me both,” Hermione admits. 

“Is it any Weasley brother or one in particular?” Fred asks, and Hermione whirls around, caught. 

He’s grinning at them, arms crossed over his broad chest. He looks Adrian up and down. “I’ve always thought you might be a wicked bit of fun.” 

Adrian grins and looks to Hermione. “You know, this is a golden opportunity. You could have both of us, tonight.” 

“I’m not sure you’d be paying attention to me,” she says, swallowing. 

“I doubt that will be a problem.” 

Adrian leads Hermione and Fred toward the private room they have secured. “Two-way glass; we can see out, but no one can see in.” 

Hermione has to check it out herself and she quickly scans for any recording devices. “I’m not ending up on the cover of the Daily Prophet bare-arsed.” 

Adrian smiles indulgently and just sits back on the couch, propping one ankle on the other knee. 

“Have either of you ever done this before?” Adrian asks. 

“A threesome? Yes,” Fred says. “I have.” 

Hermione shakes her head no. 

“Okay, well, these can get awkward, but the key is to have fun. Don’t take it too seriously; it’s just a bit of sex, yeah?” 

“Ha. I’ll try,” she promises, wiping her sweaty hands on her dress. 

Fred steps in and takes Hermione’s face. “Ladies first,” he murmurs and kisses her. 

Kissing Fred feels so familiar and yet electric at once. Hermione could do that for an hour and not get tired of it. 

Fred breaks it off and then steps over to Adrian. “Now, your turn.”

Hermione watches them kiss, awkwardly at first, then getting into it, and it’s honestly the hottest thing she’s ever seen. 

When they break apart, she clears her throat. “Adrian, take off Fred’s waistcoat.” 

The boys grin at each other, and then turn toward her. Fred moves around back of Adrian and unbuttons the waistcoat, sliding it off his arms. 

“Adrian, now you take Fred’s shirt off.” 

“I love it when you’re bossy,” Fred says, his voice gone husky. Adrian makes some amused noise and complies with Hermione’s command. 

She has them strip each other off, one piece at a time, trying to keep her breathing under control. “Okay now, kiss each other again.” 

They do. Fred starts to caress Adrian’s butt and Hermione reaches over and smacks his hand. “Did I say you could do that?”

Fred immediately slides his hand up to Adrian’s back again. Both men are thrusting slightly against each other as they snog. 

“Okay, now,” she says, and they break apart. “I think you should strip me of my clothes. Slowly.” 

“With pleasure,” Adrian says and they both move toward her. For a moment, Hermione quails, unsure if she’s up to this, but the same fierce bravado that has kept her alive for the past several years kicks in and Fred picks up the thread, whispering praise into her ear as he runs his hands over the side of her breast. 

She turns her head to kiss him, melting into it as Adrian presses himself against her front. 

There are moments of awkwardness, but she’s been with both of them enough to be able to navigate past the worst of it, and she finds pleasure in helping each of them learn each other’s bodies. She finds herself wholly unprepared for the sheer enjoyment she gets in watching Fred take Adrian. She wants to feel it, so she slides beneath them and they all shift and adjust until Adrian can push into her as Fred pushes into him. 

Hermione is also not prepared for the level of stamina Fred has developed; Adrian comes and moves out of the way with a quick cleaning charm on Fred so he can flip Hermione over and take her from behind. 

Feeling him inside her is fantastic. She’s missed him and no other lover has ever quite managed to pleasure her in the same level as Fred did, even younger and far more inexperienced as they both were. 

Later, Hermione is dozing with the weight of Fred’s head on her shoulder when she realizes that Adrian is dressed and leaving. He gives her a kiss on the forehead and smiles at her. 

“You know, you too belong together,” he tells her. 

She smiles sleepily, but it’s Fred who answers, the words vibrating against her back. “It’ll happen when we’re both ready.” 

Adrian smiles at them both. When he opens the door, the club music seeps in; things are still clearly going strong.

She checks the time; it’s still early. It’s only when she’s putting the wand down that she realizes it’s Fred’s and that it responded to her as easily as her own. 

“If you see Sirius, tell him I’ll be down in a bit,” she tells Adrian just before he closes the door. 

Silence falls, though Fred is awake. He is lying on his side, facing her, his head propped on one bicep.

“You believe that?” she asks him quietly. “That we’ll be together at some point?” 

“Yes. It won’t be today and probably not this year, but you and I, we’re not finished yet.” 

“Why not now, if you believe that?”

He smiles and reaches out his free hand to push a curl back behind her ear. “I just turned 21. You’re barely 19 and you’ve just left Hogwarts. George and I are still in the process of rebuilding the shop, too, though it’s coming along nicely. We’re looking at expanding into Hogsmeade and possibly a store in Galway, as well.” 

“You don’t think we can do both?” 

“Do you?” he counters. “You’re brilliant, Hermione, and some day, I’ll be glad to call you mine, but right now, there’s still so much to explore and learn.” 

He reaches out and rubs his hand over her hip. “Besides, when I have you, I’m not going to want to share you with anyone else.”

She considers this. “I wouldn’t want to, either.” 

“So for now, let’s explore the world in our own ways and on our own terms. And then, in a few years, we can show each other what we’ve learned.” He grins, waggling his eyebrows at her. 

Hermione returns his grin. “On that note, I should get going. I need to round up Sirius and make sure he gets back safely to Harry.”

“That is a relationship that I must say, has surprised me,” Fred says, flipping on his back and tucking his arms under his head. She eyes his body appreciatively and debates the wisdom of leaving.

“I never thought you cared for him much,” Fred continues, eyeing her as she hooks her bra around her back. 

Hermione thinks about the relationship she has formed with Sirius. “Sirius and Harry and I, we all know what it’s like to lose everything, and so we’ve made each other our family.” 

Fred nods. “Do you think you’ll ever see your family again?”

Hermione shakes her head. “I doubt it. I miss them every day and I’m glad they’re happy, but it is rather like they’re dead.”

“And heaven is Australia?” Fred snorts.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “For some people.” 

“And you haven’t thought of going there? Taking a gap year?” 

Hermione laughs. “I had thought about it, before I found out that mum was pregnant again. They have a chance to start over. I’m not going to interrupt their lives, nor am I going to torture myself by watching them constantly.” 

Fred twists his lips. “That’s a hard decision, but you know we consider you family as well, right?” 

“I’m pretty sure your mum doesn’t.”

“Mum has been going to therapy with Ginny,” Fred says. “I think it’s helping mum cope. She still isn’t quite her old self, but give her time, Hermione. She’ll get there.” 

Hermione smiles at him. “I am certain she will.” She finishes getting dressed and moves to the mirror to fix her hair. 

“I did think about taking a gap year, but honestly, I’d spend most of it frustrated by all the things I could be doing to make magical Britain better.” 

Fred grins at her. “Of course you would. And you’re going to be great at it. Future Minister of Magic, you.” 

“Merlin, no,” Hermione says. “I have a lot of changes to make before I’ll be able to take on that role.” 

“Well go get ‘em, tiger,” Fred says grinning. “I’m not going to stop you.” 

Hermione smiles at him, gives him a peck on the cheek, and heads for the door. “Nobody will.” 

***

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> So while Fred's not dead and Sirius comes back to life, other characters are dead, including some non-canon ones. 
> 
> This story started out as an exploration of Hermione and pushing the boundaries of perception and actuality. There's an interesting dichotomy between her reputation and characterization as someone who respects the rules and yet who regularly breaks them. So while she and others may come off as OOC, this is a story that endeavors to explore what circumstances and events could push that dichotomy even further - and how Hermione herself would feel about it. 
> 
> As to the Molly and Ginny bashing... I actually never intended for any bashing, but along the same lines as above, I wanted to explore further the potential conflict that Hermione has had with Mrs Weasley before (namely, Molly's coolness toward her based the Daily Prophet's lies in her fourth year) and what Molly's blind spots are in regard to people. 
> 
> And Ginny... Ginny's side of the story is yet to be told, but it's a complicated thing.
> 
> And final note: I'm not British, which is probably fairly obvious. I tried to strike a balance between flavoring this with British slang and the fact that I'm an American. I did spend over a year in England, but it's been a while, so I apologize if I did a poor job.


End file.
